Love, and the Aeroplane. A Tale of Tomorrow.

Sandes, John

Love, and the Aeroplane. A Tale of Tomorrow.

Item

Title of Story: Love, and the Aeroplane. A Tale of Tomorrow.
Critical Introduction: What is particularly interesting about this title is that it reflects the kind of techno-futuristic world replete with multiple inventions that became a mainstay of western science fiction by the 1920s. Where 'invention opera' usually focused on one invention, or related minor inventions that make up a major invention, this story makes inventions the natural background of the romance - shifting the world-building from a feature to the environment, much like futuristic episodes of Doctor Who and Star Trek.

The story was first published in novel form in June 1910 and newspapers reviewed it across the country to great acclaim. Just a few weeks later in July 1910 it began to be serialised in various newspapers. It is notable that the newspapers could do whatever they wished with the text as several chapters were in pieces and scattered across weeks of newspaper releases, with several chapters being broken at different points depending on the newspaper (making reassembling the story from newspaper OCR difficult.)
The novel and newspaper text is out of copyright but the illustrations by Sir Lionel Lindsay are still under copyright until 2031.

[It is interesting to note that in the story the Australian town has a monorail in the early 1900s when I believe the first monorail didn't appear in Australia until 1986. Though, this is par for the course in some of our bigger developments. Consider that a second airport in Sydney was proposed in parliament in the 1930s and will hopefully be open sometime in 2026. Research into a high speed railway between Melbourne and Sydney was conducted in 1984, with work commencing soon and a plan for completion by 2060.]
Story Summary: A town gets various new inventions using gyroscopes. Gyroscope car, gyroscope monorail but all inventions, apart from the aeroplane being used regularly, are a backdrop to the romance. Jump to the future where married couple's son is grown up driving an 'old car' and is recommended to get one of those new electric cars.
Science Fiction Subgenres: invention opera
Future Year Set: Near Future
Inventions: Gyroscopic Aeroplanes; Electric Cars; Monorail
Science: Conservation of angular momentum; angular velocity; Mechanical gyroscope
How this Story was Identified: Using the Automated Popular English Fiction Genre Classification Program (APEFGCP) designed with the help of ChatGPT, utilising the Open AI API, analysis was conducted on the concatenated model of To Be Continued: The Australian Newspaper Fiction Database. The Program scanned the first 1000 words or so of 25,000 stories and allocated three main genre classifications. It classified this story as: Invention; Social Problems; Romance, which I interpreted belonging to the classification of Invention Opera.
KeyClouds: NA
Date Details Added to IA: 2024
Historical Context: Australian Lawrence Hargrave invented the box aeroplane in 1894. The Wright Brothers launched their wood wing aeroplane in 1903. By 1910 inventors like John Duigan were building and flying their own planes in Australia. 1910 could be considered the height of fascination with home-made planes before commercialisation and weaponisation.
Attributed Author: Sandes, John
Nationality: Australian
Single or Serialised: Serialised
First Published Date of Last Installment: 1910-09-02
Year For Sorting: 1910
Date Range: 1910-07-13-1910-09-02
Complete or Supplemented: Complete
Length: Novel
Book Release Details: NSW Bookstall Company 1910
Links in To Be Continued: Love and the Aeroplane
Links to Trove: Love and the Aeroplane
Newspaper Publisher Citation: Geelong Advertiser
Newspaper Name Location Years: Geelong Advertiser (VIC)
Location Town City: Geelong
Location State Territory: Victoria
Provincial or Metro: Provincial
General Subjects: Newspaper Fiction; Australian Fiction
Language: English
Copyright: Text in the public domain.
Illustrations under copyright until 2031.
Australian Copyright Act 1968.; Request pages from the National Library of Australia
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Content Advisory: These items are historical texts digitised from their original publication, and reflects the social attitudes, cultural values, and language of the time in which they were created. Some content may include depictions or references that are racist, sexist, ableist, colonialist, or otherwise offensive by contemporary standards. This material is presented uncensored for scholarly, archival, and educational purposes. It serves as a record of past cultural attitudes and is preserved here to support critical engagement, historical reflection, and the advancement of inclusive scholarship. Reader discretion is advised.
OCR from TBC and Trove: 2025: not yet reordered. Multiple copies of various chapter pieces from at least 10 newspaper mastheads combined below: ¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER I. — IN WARATAH VALLEY. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ The old man viciously attacked an- other onion with his fork. ¶ “ And now, ” he concluded, “ do ye wonder that I can`t abide them cursed airyoplanes ? ” ¶ On the verandah, after tea, when pipes were lighted and Mr. Robins had obligingly paid for drinks from the bar on the strength of the large order that he expected to get next day for wash- ing materials and domestic illuminants. Bill Blake unostentatiously placed his chair in the corner which afforded the best view of Tom Hardy´s store, and the post office, and the paddock along- side. ¶ “ A man sees a many things in life if he keeps his eyes open, ” remarked Mr. Blake philosophically, “ and `specially a publican. ” ¶ “ `E do, sure, ” assented the ex-circus proprietor, shifting his chair a little closer to Bill and staring across the road in the gathering darkness towards the post office paddock, at the far end of which stood the low shed which Bert Milligan, the mailman, was accustomed to use as a shelter for his hated “ airyo- plane. ” ¶ Mr. Robins was a cheerful and gre- garious soul. He had been allowing his eyes to wander up and down the street in the faint hope that what he called “ a bit o` skirt ” might make its appear- ance, but all to no purpose. ¶ “ Deadly slow in Waratah Valley of an evening, ain`t it ? ” he remarked plea- santly, “ `specially if one is all alone. ” ¶ “ There`s them as thinks so, ” replied Bill Blake, noting from his corner that the light was still burning in the store. ¶ “ I can`t make out what it is that makes the place so silent, ” went on Mr. Robins with a puzzled air. “ It wasn`t quite like this when I was here a few years ago. ” ¶ “ It`s the horses, ” put in Silas in his sepulchral bass. ¶ “ What on earth have they got to do with it ? ” asked Robins. ¶ “ There ain`t any, ” said Silas Weldon. “ That`s why the township seems desert- ed. Them dashed airyoplanes and motor ploughs, and motor delivery carts have driven every bloomin` horse outer Wara- tah Valley. There`s only one left as I knows of, and that`s the hack that Tom Broughton rides. And a very good cut of a horse he is too. I`d rather have him under me than an airyoplane any day. ” ¶ “ Good job for you, Silas, that the horses did go, at any rate, ” remarked Bill Blake enigmatically. ¶ Again Mr. Robins pricked up his ears. “ You`re not in the horse business still, are you ? ” he inquired of the old man. ¶ “ In a manner of speaking, I may say that I am, ” was the reply. Then the speaker cast a significant glance at his empty glass and remained silent. When Mr. Robins had instructed Wilga, by calling through the window, to fill `em up again, the old man found his voice once more. ¶ “ I used to get a good living out of `em when they was alive, ” he remarked, “ but now I can only barely make tucker out of `em when they`re dead. ” ¶ “ He shoots `em, ” explained Bill Blake, “ fer their scalps. ” ¶ The visitor from the city had not heard of the new rural industry, so Bill Blake ventured to enlighten him. ¶ “ Ye see, it`s this way, ” he said, “ when them new electric storage batteries come in, an` every little cocky about the place began to get grubbing, ploughing, cart- ing, harrering, and even reaping and binding done by them motors the horses gradually got left out in the paddocks to shift fer themselves. And presently when they strayed away through the broken fences to the big bush on the ranges the cockies didn`t trouble to foller `em an` bring `em back. Ye couldn`t sell horses at all. Nobody wanted to be bothered with `em, when they could get the work done by `lec- tricity an` smells with less than half the trouble. I shul think close on a hun- dred and fifty mares and geldings got away into the ranges the first year after the motor driven reaper and binder came in. ” ¶ “ More like two hundred, ” grunted Silas. ¶ “ A couple of old stallions that had been condemned by the Government in- spector, and orter have been shot, got away with the mob, and that was the cause of all the trouble, ” continued Bill Blake. “ But there ye are. Nobody can`t tell what`s fer the best after all. If them stallions had been shot, Silas Weldon wouldn`t have been able to make a good an` easy livin` outer that Government inspector´s mistake. Not but what he`d have always been welcome in my house, him an` me bein` such old friends. ” ¶ Silas shuffled his feet angrily on the floor. ¶ “ But that ain`t exactly the point, ” continued Bill Blake, recovering himself like a skilful skater and changing his course instantly so as to escape the thin ice ahead. “ I was tellin` ye about them stallions an` what it cost the Govern- ment in the long run to pay fer that in- spector´s mistake. An` they ain`t done paying yet, neither. ” ¶ Mr. Robins was fast getting out of his conversational depth, so Bill Blake, tak- ing a long breath, plunged in and rescued him. ¶ “ Ye see, ” said the philosophic pub- lican, “ them two stallions got away with the big mob, mostly mares, and in a couple of years there was more like four hundred horses in the ranges than two hundred. They went on increasing until they got to be a perfect holy terror of a pest. Bless yer, the rabbits an` the foxes weren`t nothin` to them. Many a time when the wind was westerly I could hear `em at night neighing and whinnying far away, and their fighting and love-making kep` me awake ontil I wished `em all in blazes. Now what I says is horses are all right in the nat- cheral course of things. They has their work ter do same as you and me. An` when you throws all the horses in the country idle by bringin` in machines ter do their work you are makin` trouble fer yourself what`s got to be settled some- how. That`s so, ain`t it, Silas ? ” ¶ Mr. Weldon assented with a grunt. He was a man of action himself. Bill Blake on the other hand having done very little else during a long life ex- cept draw beer, and sell it and drink fair in the intervals of business, was largely a man of words. Leisure and beer had produced in him a remarkable tendency for explaining the universe to the ordinary toiler who had no time for thinking. ¶ “ As I was saying, ” continued Bill in his husky tones, “ them horses become such a pest that at last somethin` had to be done about it. So I goes to our member an` I shows him how he could get a chance to get his name inter the newspapers. Them horses, I told him, was worse than dingoes, an` as bad as prickly pear on the land. ‘ Wot do yer do with prickly pear ? ’ says I. ‘ You ex- terminate it with chemicals. ’ ‘ And wot ort you to do with them horses ? ’ says I. ‘ You ort to exterminate them with bul- lets. ’ So I persuaded him to bring in a short Bill classifying all horses in the Waratah Valley country as vermin, ’° ‘ ex- cepting such horses as are habitually used for the purposes of riding and driving, and are kept under constant supervision and control. ’ So that`s wot we`ve come to at larst with them airyo- planes and `lectricity and improved agri- cultural motors. And that short Bill, wot our member brought in, got through the `Ouse by some kind of a merricle, and Silas Weldon has made about three pound a week reg`lar out of it ever since. ” ¶ The commercial side of the undertak- ing appealed at once to Mr. Robins. ¶ “ How do you work it, Mr. Weldon ? ” he inquired eagerly. ¶ “ Scalps, taller, an` hides, ” said Silas, with unconcealed contempt for the ig- norance of the visitor. ¶ “ The Shire Council, ” resumed the nar- rator-in-chief, “ pays five bob for every horse scalp certified as such by the in- spector, and the hide merchant an` boil- ing-down works take the remainder. Pans out about a quid a horse, don`t it, Silas, after paying exes an` freight to the works ? ” ¶ “ Jest about, ” said Silas. ¶ “ But my word, it`s getting hard to stalk `em now. They know old Silas and his Winchester as well as I do, an` if he happens to get to windward of `em it`s all up fer the day. It`s my belief that they can smell him a mile off, and when they do, he doesn`t have much chance. Ever seen a stampede of brum- bies ? No ? Well, I shouldn`t go ter look fer it if I was you, unless yer wants to see hell broke loose at close quarters. Now these `ere brumbies are jest like men in a manner of speakin°. `° You give `em too much liberty an` they`ll fly off the handle altogether an` be a damn nuisance to everybody. When they had their regular work to do they filled their place in the world right enough, but idleness never done no more good yet for horse nor man. Wot time are you goin` after them ter-morrer, Silas ? ” ¶ “ Day-break, ” muttered Silas glumly. Bill Blake´s moral sentiments as to the value of hard words exasperated him. “ Reckon your tongue ought to be moral enough, at any rate, Bill, ” he added. “ You give it plenty of exercise. ” ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER I. — IN WARATAH VALLEY. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ Plainly there was no love lost between Joe and the postmistress — on her side, at any rate. ¶ “ All right, Missus, ” retorted Joe, with an angry glint in his eye. “ I jest looked in to see if Tom and the kid were home yet. He passed me this mornin` with all his gear in the runabout, an` told me he was goin` to put in ter-morrer clearin` his section on Big Hill. `Spect he wont`° be home ter-day. ” And with a malevo- lent grin at the angry bush beauty be- hind the counter and the muscular young mailman who was smiling at her with obvious infatuation, the cross-eyed one slouched out into the road and across to the verandah of the shanty again. ¶ “ Nice pair of beauts they are, ” said Joe Peterson to Bill the hotelkeeper, with a sideways jerk of his thumb to- wards the store. “ Ratty, that`s wot I call `em. Did y` ever see such a pair of loonies in yer natcheral, Bill ? ” ¶ “ Oh, yes, ” answered the grizzled hotel keeper, after a moment´s thought. He had spent a lifetime in the township, and was over sixty years of age. ¶ “ Larst postmistress was jest as bad. Mailman used to ride in them days. But, bless yer, mailmen is the devil with post- mistresses. It don`t matter a bean whe- ther the mailman rides a horse or drives a flying machine. If he sees a pretty postmistress, married or single, he`s bound to make love to her. `E`d do the same ef he had to ride the mails on a bullock or carry `em in a submarine. People don`t change their `abits, Joe, `cos of new ways of movin` about. Beer ? ” ¶ Joe indicated that the progress of scientific invention had made no change in his habits, as regards beer, and, with a long glass at his elbow, he settled down to watch the door of the post office. His squinny eye was firmly fixed on the local hall — beyond Cassidy´s lucerne patch — and his free eye appeared to sweep the horizon, from the pepper trees round the constable´s neat little house to the roll- ing clouds of smoke that rose from the {bush fires in the west. But the post-office was the} real object of observation. It was quite half an hour before Bert Milligan came out whistling, stepped into his aeroplane and ran her round on her own wheels into the shed in the paddock at the back of the store. ¶ “ Supper, father ! ” called a fresh young voice inside the hotel, and Wilga Blake, with the sleeves of her blouse rolled up to her elbows, appeared in the doorway with a summons that Tom Blake never disregarded. A fresh and happy girl was Wilga, with a roguish eye and a large, honest mouth adorned with per- fect teeth. She rounded up her father and old Silas Weldon, the permanent boarder — and she cast an eager glance around the verandah for some one else. It might have been Tom Broughton for whom she was looking, but, at any rate, pretty Wilga was obviously disappointed and she went back into the house with an impatient shrug of her shapely shoul- des° and a thoughtful glance in the direc- tion of the store opposite. ¶ “ Another of them cursed airyo- planes, ” grumbled old Silas, with his mouth full of juicy steak, cooked by Wilga and served by the same alert young woman, who was an expert house- keeper and had looked after her father and the hotel ever since her mother had died a few years before. She bustled about and laid an extra plate for the casual stranger who had just come in — a young fellow by the name of Robins, in the soap and candle line. ¶ “ They brought bad luck for you, Silas, annyway°, ” said Tom Blake. ¶ “ They did so, ” replied Silas gloomily. ¶ “ How`s that ? ” asked the soap expert, pricking up his ears. ¶ “ If it hadn`t been for them smelly things I`d have been in the ring still, ” said Silas. ¶ “ Did ye ever see Jeffries fight in the old days ? ” asked Robins eagerly. ¶ “ Circus ring was my game, young feller, not fighting, ” said the old man severely. “ My name`s Weldon — Silas Weldon. ” ¶ “ Not Weldon of the ‘ Greatest Show on Earth ’ ? ” put in Mr. Robins. ¶ “ The same, ” responded Silas, dissect- ing a large, nicely-browned onion with a practised hand. ¶ “ I remember reading about it in the papers, ” said the visitor, with thorough- ly awakened interest. “ And to think that you are really Silas Weldon, ‘ the heroic ring master. ’ That`s what they called you in the paper. Why, it was the biggest catastrophe of its kind that ever happened in Australia. ” ¶ “ That`s so, ” murmured the old man with mournful pride. “ I`ll trouble you for the onions again, my dear. ” ¶ Wilga placed the steaming dish before him, and he helped himself liberally to the consoling vegetable. ¶ “ But the papers didn`t get all the facts quite right, ” went on the old man. “ It was a good many years ago, and on Christmas Eve, that it happened. Me and Dan Feeney, my partner, was doing well in them days. Twenty horses, two trick ponies, and the elephant. Fritz, the strong man, and Stella St. Maur — that was Polly Feeney — for the bareback acts, and George Briggs, the clown, and Kioto, the Japanese juggler, besides the tent men and waggon hands. We was making twenty notes a week when the fire came and blew me out for good. ” ¶ Mr. Robins was truly sympathetic. But he wanted to know what the aero- planes had to do with it. ¶ “ We had just got everything ready for the show at night, ” continued the old man. “ It was up at a place called Bangalonga, not far from the Murray, and I remember Feeney saying to me as if it was only yesterday that the stand was good for forty notes at least. The naptha flares were all burning inside the tent, and one of them might have been a bit too close to the canvas, but it had stood in the same place for three years and never did any harm. I was settin` on a candle box just behind the ele- phant, pulling on my right boot, when I heard something hit the tent hard, and then a yell from Feeney. We found out after it was all over that a feller in an aeroplane had somehow dropped his spare petrol tank from half a mile high or thereabouts. It struck the tent just above that blarsted naptha flare, and the Greatest Show on Earth was under- studyin` the part for the burning fiery furnace before I got my boot on. ” ¶ “ That`ll tell ye, now, ” ejaculated the soap-hawker, as he sat open-mouthed op- posite the narrator, resting his knife and fork perpendicularly on the table, one on each side of his plate. ¶ “ When the pole broke and the burn- ing canvas fell down on the top of them animals ye never seen such a sight in your life, ” went on the old man, glar- ing at the petrified visitor, “ nor heard such a hellish shriekin` neither. Old Jumbo the elephant was inside the tent. He was hobbled to one of the waggons outside with a steel chain of quarter- inch links, but when he smelt the fire he let out a roar like a battleship comin` into action, and he started right ahead with the waggon bangin` behind him like a tin can on a dog´s tail. In less than half a minute he was that tangled up with the burning canvas and the two-shilling seats — they was blazin` like a timber yard — that ye couldn`t tell which was waggon and which was ele- phant. There was no hope of savin` him, nor the horses neither, and when me and Dan got outside, the Greatest Show on Earth was kickin` itself to pieces in that orful entanglement of burning canvas and tiers of wooden seats. Billy, the trick pony, came through alive with one eye kicked out and every bit of hair burned off him till he looked like as if he was made of linoleum, but not another animal es- caped. ” ¶ “ But what about all your people ? ” queried the hawker breathlessly. ¶ “ Well, I don`t rightly know ef George Briggs has stopped runnin` yet, ” re- plied the veteran reflectively, “ but I know he got out all right `cause I seen him. Polly Feeney got her back hair singed, and Fritz had to be took to the hospital to be refitted with new seating accommodation, but the Jap. and the Dago that looked after the elephant came around for their pay as usual next mornin`. Everybody on the pay sheet was to hand, and that`s all that was left of the ‘ Greatest Show on Earth. ’ ” ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ Love and the Æroplane. ¶ CHAPTER I. ¶ IN WARATAH VALLEY. ¶ “ It certainly is a hole ! ” ¶ The statement was made with the calm and reasoned force of a judicial utterance. Yet, to the uninitiated, there was no sign of any orifice. ¶ From the doorway in which the speak- er stood the chief feature of the land- scape was a straggly, interminable, red- brown road, with a bush hotel in the foreground, a few scattered, tin-roofed houses in the middle distance, and, be- hind them, the mighty rampart of gum- covered ranges. ¶ It was a woman who pronounced the judicial utterance, and she stood in the doorway of the store and post office of Waratah Valley. ¶ Waratah Valley was the hole. ¶ The woman was young and very good to look upon, by reason of her large grey eyes, her face, which was intelli- gent as well as beautiful, and her sweetly moulded figure. But, as she pronounced her decision the corners of her mouth were drawn down disapprov- ingly. Plainly she was dissatisfied with the prospect ; and yet there was some- thing in her attitude that betokened pleasurable expectancy. ¶ She looked up at the sky long and earnestly. With her shapely head a little thrown back, her plump arms bare to the elbows, and her hands resting on the graceful contour of her hips, she made such a pretty picture that the loafers on the verandah of the shanty across the road turned their eyes in her direction more than once. ¶ “ Who d`yer think she`s lookin` for, eh, Joe ? ” said a tall, lean individual, with the far-away gaze and deliberate manner of the bushman born and bred, as he thoughtfully rolled the shavings of sticky black tobacco between his nubbly hands. ¶ “ Don`t yer wish it was for you ? ” replied the other, a little, squinny-eyed man, with a disagreeable smile that showed a mouthful of strong, yellow teeth. “ I reckon Alice Hardy`s a heap too good looking to be contented in this place an`, if her husband don`t make a move soon, she`ll go for a trip without him one of these days. ” ¶ “ Did y` ever hear wot happened to the chap that kept shovin` his nose into other people´s fam`ly concerns, Joe ? ” inquired the long and lanky one, with a tired drawl. ¶ “ Can`t reck`lect this minute, Tom, ” said Joe, uncomfortably. ¶ “ Got it flattened, ” said Tom Broughton, in a whisper that was ap- parently addressed to the floor, but he looked up and fixed the feebly grinning Joe with a far away gaze that seemed to see right through that worthy´s grimy, Crimean shirt, and into the in- most recesses of the wearer´s equally grimy and unpleasant mind. “ An` don`t you forget it, either, ” added the speaker, significantly, “ `specially if it`s Alice Hardy´s concerns. ” Then he turned slowly towards the hotel keep- er, who stood in the doorway in his {shirt sleeves. “ `Bout time for the} mail, ain`t it, Bill ? ” ¶ Bill Blake slowly nodded his massive head, at the same time winking sur- reptitiously at squinny-eyed Joe, the caluminator of beauty. And still the woman at the store across the road stood in front of the entrance, and, with head thrown back, stared out into the sky towards the east. ¶ It had been a very hot day. To the westward dense clouds of smoke from the bush fires rolled over the intermin- able gums. The tang of the eucalyptus pervaded the whole township as the light wind puffed its hot breath in the faces of the few people who were about. But there was a distinct air of antici- pation upon the faces of the loafers on the verandah of the public house, and it was repeated in every line of the grace- ful figure that had now moved a few steps from the store and stood sil- houetted aganst° the sky line. ¶ Presently a faint pulsation vibrated in the heated air. It was hardly a de- finite sound, scarcely more than the whisper of a welcome breeze. But in a few moments it sounded like the purr- ing of a very small cat a very long way off. And in a few seconds more it was like the whirring of wings. ¶ “ `Ere come Bert, all right, ” remark- ed Joe Peterson, malevolently scowling in the direction of quiet Tom Broughton who was peacefully blowing little clouds of tobacco smoke into the heated air, and watching the wreaths and spirals as they vanished into invisibili- ty. ¶ Tom Broughton stepped off the ver- andah and out into the dusty, red road, noting at the same time that Aice° Har- dy on the other side had suddenly be- come brisk, alert, and vividly expect- ant. As both the man and the woman looked out into the clear sky they be- came aware of a black spot that was rapidly becoming larger, and a hum- ming sound like the booming of bees came to their ears. Quickly the black spot grew, and in a few seconds more touched with the rosy light of the westering sun, it revealed itself in the likeness of an enormous insect with out- stretched, gilded wings, extended tail, and two short legs tucked up in front. ¶ “ It`s Bert, it`s Bert, ” said the young woman aloud, clapping her hands in joyous excitement, and heedless of the inquisitive eyes fixed upon her from the verandah across the road. ¶ “ Yes, it`s Bert, sure enough, ” echo- ed Tom Broughton, as he made his way with long, leisurely strides to the store and post office of the township, taking in Alice Hardy´s animation and frank pleasure at the approach of the flying man, with gloomy interest. ¶ The flying man performed a wide circle in the air ; then the aeroplane made a long, graceful glide towards the earth, touched the ground lightly, and, running along on its own wheels, drew up in front of the door of the post of- fice. ¶ “ What a long time you`ve been, Bert, ” said the young woman briskly. “ Had a good trip this time ? ” ¶ “ Right enough, thank you, Mrs. Har- dy, ” replied the young fellow as he stepped out of the aeroplane and came forward with a flashing smile for the pretty postmistress, and a dancing light in his black eyes. Under the ear-flaps of the closely fitting storm cap his hair showed dark and curly. ¶ “ The smoke from the bush fires bothered me a bit as I came over the ranges, ” he added, “ and I was up about as high as the engines could take me, but she came along like a bird. It was hot work while it lasted, and I had to put on my blue goggles to save my eyes, but Black Swan kept moving, and she has done her hundred miles in a little under the two hours, so I`ve no- thing to complain about. Wait a minute, and I`ll fetch out the bags. ” ¶ The young man went back to the ma- chine and pulled open the door of a large, square receptacle placed imme- diately below the driving seat. He hauled out two large mail bags locked with padlocks and dragged them into the post-office. Then he threw out a miscellaneous collection of brown paper parcels, small boxes, bundles, and pack- ages of every conceivable shape — the daily parcel post carried by a paternal government through its trusty agent, Bert Milligan, for the benefit of the in- habitants of Waratah Valley township. ¶ “ A heavy mail this evening, ” said the mailman, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. “ Over two hundred and fifty pounds altogether. A good job I had no passenger as well, as Black Swan would never have crossed the range, and I`d have had to go round by Fossicker´s Gap, an extra fifty miles at least. Thanky, Missus, here`s to your bright eyes. ” ¶ He drained the long glass of foaming beer that Alice Hardy handed to him with a bright smile and a murmured, “ Oh, go along with you, Bert, you know you don`t mean it. ” ¶ Then he sat down on an empty can- dle box and proceeded to fill his pipe, while Tom Broughton, outside, after giving one searching glance into the store, turned on his heel and strode off down the road biting the ends of his long, black moustache savagely. ¶ Joe Peterson, with a gleam of mali- cious joy in his squinny eye, slouched across the road and stood in the door- way of the post office. ¶ “ Got any letters for me, Bert, ” he asked with a painful effort to appear unconcerned. “ It`s about time I got er love letter, ain`t it missus ? ” ¶ But Mrs. Hardy stamped her foot in- dignantly. ¶ “ You get along out of this, Joe Pet- erson, ” she cried angrily, “ you`re for ever prowlin` about where you`re not wanted. There are no letters for you, I tell you, so out you go. ” ¶ Plainly there was no love lost be- tween Joe and the postmistress — on her side, at any rate. ¶ “ All right, Missus, ” retorted Joe, with an angry glint in his eye. “ I jest looked in to see if Tom and the kid were home yet. He passed me this mornin` with all his gear in the run- about, an` told me he was goin` to put in ter-morrer clearin` his section on Big Hill. `Spect he won`t be home ter- day. ” And with a malevolent grin at the angry bush beauty behind the counter and the muscular young mail- man who was smiling at her with ob- vious infatuation, the cross-eyed one slouched out into the road, and across to the verandah of the shanty again. ¶ “ Nice pair of beauts they are, ” said Joe Peterson to Bill the hotelkeeper, with a sideways jerk of his thumb to- wards the store. “ Ratty, that`s wot I call `em. Did y` ever see such a pair of loonies in yer natcheral, Bill ? ” ¶ “ Oh, yes, ” answered the grizzled ho- tel keeper, after a moment´s thought. He had spent a lifetime in the township and was over sixty years of age. ¶ “ Larst Postmistress was jest as bad. Mailmen used to ride in them days. But, bless yer, mailmen is the devil with postmistresses. It don`t matter a bean whether the mailman rides a horse or drives a flying machine. If he sees pretty postmistress, married or single, he`s bound to make love to her. `E`d do the same of he had to rid the mails on a bullock or carry `em in a submarine. People don`t change `abits, Joe, `cos of new ways of movin` about. Beer. ” ¶ Joe indicated that the progress of scientific invention had made no change in his habits as regards beer, and, with a long glass at his elbow, he settled down to watch the door of the post of- fice. His squinny eye was firmly fixed on the local hall — beyond Cassidy´s lu- cerne patch — and his free eye appeared to sweep the horizon, from the pepper trees round the constable´s neat little house to the rolling clouds of smoke that rose from the bush fires in the west. But the post office was the real object of observation. It was quite half an hour before Bert Milligan came out whistling, stepped into his aero- plane, and ran her round on her wheels into the shed in the paddock at the back of the store. ¶ “ Supper, father ! ” called a fresh young voice inside the hotel and Wilga Blake, with the sleeves of her blouse rolled up to her elbows, appeared in the doorway with a summons that Tom Blake never disregarded. A fresh and happy girl was Wilga, with a roguish eye and a large, honest mouth adorned with perfect teeth. She rounded up her father and old Silas Weldon, the permanent boarder — and she cast an eager glance around the verandah for someone else. It might have been Tom Broughton for whom she was looking, but, at any rate, pretty Wilga was ob- viously disappointed, and she went back into the house with an impatient shrug of her shapely shoulders, and a thoughtful glance in the direction of the store opposite. ¶ “ Another of them cursed airyo- planes, ” grumbled old Silas, with his mouth full of juicy steak, cooked by Wilga, and served by the same alert young woman, who was an expert housekeeper, and had looked after her father and the hotel ever since her mother had died a few years before. She bustled about and laid an extra plate for the casual stranger who had just come in — a young fellow by the name of Robins, in the soap and can- dle line. ¶ “ They brought bad luck for you, Silas, anyway, ” said Tom Blake. ¶ “ They did so, ” replied Silas gloom- ly°. ¶ “ How`s that ? ” asked the soap ex- pert, pricking up his ears. ¶ “ If it hadn`t been for them smelly things I`d have been in the ring still, ” said Silas. ¶ “ Did ye ever see Jeffries fight in the old days ? ” asked Robins eagerly. ¶ “ Circus ring was my game, young feller, not fighting, ” said the old man severely. “ My name`s Weldon — Silas Weldon. ” ¶ “ Not Weldon of the ‘ Greatest Show on Earth ’ ? ” put in Mr. Robins. ¶ “ The same, ” responded Silas, dis- secting a large nicely browned onion with a practised hand. ¶ “ I remember reading about it in the papers, ” said the visitor, with thoroughly awakened interest. “ And to think that you are really Silas Wel- don, ‘ the heroic ring master. ’ That`s what they called you in the paper. Why, it was the biggest catastrophe of its kind that ever happened in Aus- tralia. ” ¶ “ That`s so, ” murmured the old man with mournful pride. “ I`ll trouble you for the onions again, my dear. ” ¶ Wilga placed the steaming dish be- fore him, and he helped himself liber- ally to the consoling vegetable. ¶ “ But the papers didn`t get all the facts quite right, ” went on the old man. “ It was a good many years ago, and on Christmas Eve, that it happen- ed. Me and Dan Feeney, my partner, was doing well in them days. Twenty horses, two trick ponies, and the ele- phant. Fritz, the strong man, and Stella St. Maur — that was Polly Fee- ney — for the bareback acts, and George Briggs, the clown, and Kioto, the Jap- anese juggler, besides the tent men and waggon hands. We was making 20 notes a week when the fire came and blew me out for good. ” ¶ Mr. Robins was truly sympathetic, but he wanted to know what the aero- plane had to do with it. ¶ “ We had just got everything ready for the show at night, ” continued the old man. “ It was up at a place called Bangalonga, not far from the Murray, and I remember Feeney saying to me as if it was only yesterday that the stand was good for forty notes at least. The naptha flares were all burning inside the tent, and one of them might have been a bit too close to the canvas, but it had stood in the same place for three years and never did any harm. I was sittin` on a candle box just behind the elephant, pulling on my right boot, when I heard something hit the tent hard, and then a yell from Feeney. We found out after it was all over that a feller in an aeroplane had somehow dropped his spare petrol tank from half a mile high or thereabouts. It struck the tent just above that blarsted nap- tha flare, and the Greatest Show on Earth was understudyin` the part for the burning fiery furnace before I got my boot on. ” ¶ “ That`ll tell ye, now, ” ejaculated the soap hawker, as he sat open mouth- ed opposite the narrator, resting his knife and fork perpendicularly on the table, one on each side of his plate. ¶ “ When the pole broke and the burn- ing canvas fell down on the top of them animals ye never seen such a sight in your life, ” went on the old man, glar- ing at the petrified visitor, “ nor heard such a hellish shriekin` neither. Old Jumbo, the elephant, was inside the tent. He was hobbled to one of the waggons outside with a steel chain of quarter-inch links, but when he smelt the fire he let out a roar like a battle- ship comin` into action, and he started right ahead with the waggon bangin` behind him like a tin can on a dog´s tail. In less than half a minute he was that tangled up with the burning can- vass and the two-shilling seats — they was blazin` like a timber yard — that ye couldn`t tell which was waggon and which was elephant. There was no hope of savin` him, nor the horses neither, and when me and Dan got out- side, the Greatest Show on Earth was kickin` itself to pieces in that orful entanglement of burning canvas and tiers of wooden seats. Billy, the trick pony, came through alive with one eye kicked out and every bit of hair burned off him till he looked like as if he was made of linoleum, but not another ani- mal escaped. ” ¶ “ But what about all your people ? ” queried the hawker breathlessly. ¶ “ Well, I don`t righty know ef George Briggs has stopped runnin` yet, ” re- plied the veteran reflectively, “ but I know he got out all right `cause I seen him. Polly Feeney got her back hair singed, and Fritz had to be took to the hospital to be refitted with new seating accommodation ; but the Jap and the Dago that looked after the elephant came around for their pay as usual next mornin`. Everybody on the pay sheet was to hand, and that`s all that was left of the ‘ Greatest Show on Earth. ’ ” ¶ The old man viciously attacked an- other onion with his fork. ¶ “ And now, ” he concluded, “ do ye wonder that I can`t abide them cursed airyoplanes ? ” ¶ On the verandah, after tea, when pipes were lighted and Mr. Robins had obligingly paid for drinks from the bar on the strength of the large order that he expected to get next day for washing materials and domestic illuminants, Bill Blake unostentatiously placed his chair in the corner which afforded the best view of Tom Hardy´s store, and the post office, and the paddock along- side. ¶ “ A man sees a many things in life if he keeps his eyes open, ” remarked Mr. Blake philosophically, “ and `specially a publican. ” ¶ “ `E do, sure, ” assented the ex-cir- cus proprietor, shifting his chair a little closer to Bill and staring across the road in the gathering darkness towards the post office paddock, at the far end of which stood the low shed which Bert Milligan, the mailman, was accustomed to use as a shelter for his hated “ airyo- plane. ” ¶ Mr. Robins was a cheerful and gre- garious soul. He had been allowing his eyes to wander up and down the street in the faint hope that what he called “ a bit o` skirt ” might make its ap- pearance, but all to no purpose. ¶ “ Deadly slow in Waratah Valley of an evening, ain`t it ? ” he remarked pleasantly, “ specially if one is all alone. ” ¶ “ There`s them as thinks so, ” replied Bill Blake, noting from his corner that the light was still burning in the store. ¶ “ I can`t make out what it is that makes the place so silent, ” went on Mr. Robins, with a puzzled air. “ It wasn`t quite like this when I was here a few years ago. ” ¶ “ It`s the horses, ” put in Silas in his sepulchral bass. ¶ “ What on earth have they got to do with it ? ” asked Robins. ¶ “ There ain`t any, ” said Silas Wel- don. “ That`s why the township seems deserted. Them dashed airyoplanes and motor ploughs, and motor delivery carts have driven every bloomin` horse outer Waratah Valley. There`s only one left as I knows of, and that`s the hack that Tom Broughton rides. And a very good cut of a horse he is too. I`d rather have him under me than an airyoplane any day. ” ¶ “ Good job for you, Silas, that the horses did go, at any rate, ” remarked Bill Blake enigmatically. ¶ Again Mr. Robins pricked up his ears. “ You`re not in the horse busi- ness still, are you ? ” he inquired of the old man. ¶ “ In a manner of speaking, I may say that I am, ” was the reply. Then the speaker cast a significant glance at his empty glass and remained silent. When Mr. Robins had instructed Wilga, by calling through the window, to fill `em up again, the old man found his voice once more. ¶ “ I used to get a good living out of `em when they was alive, ” he remark- ed, “ but now I can only rarely make tucker out of `em when they`re dead. ” ¶ “ He shoots `em, ” explained Bill Blake, “ fer their scalps. ” ¶ The visitor from the city had not heard of the new rural industry, `so Bill Blake ventured to enlighten him. ¶ “ Ye see, it`s this way, ” he said, “ when them new electric storage bat- teries come in, an` every little cocky about the place begun to get grubbing, ploughing, carting, harrering, and even reaping and binding done by them mo- tors, the horses gradually got left in the paddocks to shift for themselves. And presently when they strayed away through the broken fences to the big bush on the ranges the cockies didn`t trouble to foller `em an` bring `em back. Ye couldn`t sell horses at all. Nobody wanted to be bothered with `em, when they could get work done by `lectricity an` smells with less than half the trouble. I shud think close on a hundred and fifty mares and geldings got away into the ranges the first year after the motor driven reaper and binder came in. ” ¶ “ More like two hundred, ” grunted Silas. ¶ “ A couple of old stallions that had been condemned by the Government in- spector, and orter have been shot, got away with the mob, and that was the cause of all the trouble, ” continued Bill Blake. “ But there ye are. No- body can`t tell what`s fer the best af- ter all. If them stallions had been shot, Silas Weldon wouldn`t have been able to make a good an` easy livin` outer that Government inspector´s mistake. Not but what he`d have always been welcome in my house, him an` me bein` such old friends. ” ¶ Silas shuffled his feet angrily on the floor. ¶ “ But that ain`t exactly the paint ,” continued Bill Blake, recovering him- self like a skilful skater and changing his course instantly so as to escape the thin ice ahead. “ I was tellin` ye about them stallions an` what it cost the Government in the long run to pay fer that inspector´s mistake. An` they ain`t done paying yet, neither. ” ¶ Mr. Robins was fast getting out of his conversational depth, so Bill Blake, taking a long breath, plunged in and rescued him. ¶ “ Ye see, ” said the philosophic pub- lican, “ them two stallions got away with the big mob, mostly mares, and in a couple of years there was more like four hundred horses in the ranges than two hundred. They went on increasing until they got to be a perfect holy ter- ror of a pest. Bless yer, the rabbits an` the foxes weren`t nothin` to them. Many a time when the wind was west- erly I could hear `em at night neighing and whinnying far away, and their fighting and love making kep` me awake until I wished `em all in blazes. Now what I says is horses are all right in the natcheral course of things. They has their work ter do same as you and me. An` when yer throws all the horses in the country idle by bringin` in ma- chines to do their work you are makin` trouble fer yourself what`s got to be settled somehow. That`s so, ain`t it, Silas ? ” ¶ Mr. Weldon assented with a grunt. He was a man of action himself. Bill Blake on the other hand having done very little else during a long life ex- cept draw beer, and sell it and drink fair in the intervals of business, was largely a man of words. Leisure and beer had produced in him a remarkable tendency for explaining the universe to the ordinary toiler who had no time for thinking. ¶ “ As I was saying, ” continued Bill in his husky tones, “ them horses be- came such a pest that at last somethin` had to be done about it. So I goes to our member an` I show him how he could get a chance to get his name inter the newspapers. Them horses, I told him, was worse than dingoes, an` as bad as prickly pear on the land. ‘ Wot do yer do with prickly pear ? ’ says I. ‘ Yer exterminate it with chemicals. ’ ‘ And wor ort you to do with them horses ? ’ says I. ‘ Yer ought to exter- minate them with bullets. ’ So I per- suaded him to bring in a short bill class- ifying all horses in the Waratah Valley country as vermin, ‘ excepting such horses as are habitually used for the purpose of riding and driving, and are kept under constant supervision and control. ’ So that`s wot we`ve come to at larst with them airyoplanes and `lectricity and improved agricultural motors. And that short bill, wot our member brought in, got through the `Ouse by some kind of a mirricle, and Silas Weldon has made about three pound a week reg`lar out of it ever since. ” ¶ The commercial side of the undertak- ing appealed at once to Mr. Robins. ¶ “ How do you work it, Mr. Weldon ? ” he inquired eagerly. ¶ “ Scalps, taller, an` hides, ” said Sil- as, with unconcealed contempt for the ignorance of the visitor. ¶ “ The shire council, ” resumed the narrator in chief, “ pays five bob for every horse scalp certified as such by the inspector, and the hide merchant an` boiling-down works takes the re- mainder. Pans out about a quid a horse, don`t it, Silas, after paying exes an` freight to the works ? ” ¶ “ Jest about, ” said Silas. ¶ “ But my word, it`s getting hard to stalk `em now. They know old Silas and his Winchester as well as I do, an` if he happens to get to windward of `em it`s all up fer the day. It`s my be- lief that they can smell him a mile off, and when they do, he doesn`t have much chance. Ever seen a stampede of brumbies ? No ? Well, I shouldn`t go ter look fer it if I was you, unless yer wants to see hell broke loose at close quarters. Now these `ere brumbies are jest like men in a manner of speakin`. You give `em too much liberty an` they`ll fly off the handle altogether an° be a damn nusance° to everybody. When they had their regular work to do they filled their place in the world right enough, but idleness never done no moral good yet for horse nor man. Wot time are you goin` after them ter- morrer, Silas ? ” ¶ “ Daybreak, ” muttered Silas glumly. Bill Blake´s moral sentiments as to the value of hard work exasperated him. “ Reckon your tongue ought to be mor- al enough, at any rate, Bill, ” he added. “You give it plenty of exercise. ” ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER I. ¶ IN WARATAH VALLEY. ¶ “ It certainly is a hole ! ” ¶ The statement was made with the calm and reasoned force of a judicial utterance. Yet, to the un- initiated, there was no sign of any orifice. ¶ From the doorway in which the speaker stood the chief feature of the landscape was a straggly, inter- minable, red-brown road, with a bush hotel in the foreground, a few scattered, tin-roofed houses in the middle distance, and, behind them, the mighty rampart of gum-covered ranges. ¶ It was a woman who pronounced the judicial utterance, and she stood in the doorway of the store and post office of Waratah Valley. ¶ Waratah Valley was the hole. ¶ The woman was young and very good to look upan°, by reason of her large grey eyes, her face, which was intelligent as well as beautiful, and her sweetly moulded figure. But as she pronounced her decision the corners of her mouth were drawn down disapprovingly. Plainly she was dissatisfied with the prospect ; and yet there was something in her attitude that betokened pleasurable expectancy. ¶ She looked up at the sky long and earnestly. With her shapely head a little thrown back, her plump arms bare to the elbows, and her hands resting on the graceful contour of her hips, she made such a pretty picture that the loafers on the verandah of the shanty across the road turned their eyes in her direction more than once. ¶ “ Who d`yer think she`s lookin` for, eh, Joe ? ” said a tall, lean in- dividual, with the far-away gaze and deliberate manner of the bush- man born and bred, as he thoughtfully rolled the shavings of sticky black tobacco between his nubbly hands. ¶ “ Don`t yer wish it was for you ? ” replied the other, a little, squinny- eyed man, with a disagreeable smile that showed a mouthful of strong yellow teeth. “ I reckon Alice Har- dy`s a heap too good looking to be contented in this place, an`, if her husband don`t make a move soon, she`ll go for a trip without him one of these days. ” ¶ “ Did y` ever hear wot happened to the chap that kept shovin` his nose into other people´s family concerns, Joe ? ” inquired the long and lanky one, with a tired drawl. ¶ “ Can`t reck`lect this minute Tom, ” said Joe, uncomfortably. ¶ “ Got it flattened, ” said Tom Broughton in a whisper that was apparently addressed to the floor, but he looked up and fixed the feeb- ly grinning Joe with the far-away gaze that seemed to see right through that worthy´s grimy Crimean shirt, and into the inmost recesses of the wearer´s equally gri- my and unpleasant mind. “ An` don`t you forget it, either, ” added the speaker, significantly, “ `spec- ially if it`s Alice Hardy´s con- cerns. ” Then he turned slowly to- wards the hotel keeper, who stood in the doorway in his shirt sleeves. “ `Bout time for the mail, ain`t it, Bill ? ” ¶ Bill Blake slowly nodded his mas- sive head, at the same time wink- ing surreptitiously at squinny-eyed Joe, the calumniator of beauty. And still the woman at the store across the road stood in front of the entrance, and, with head thrown back, stared out into the sky to- wards the east. ¶ It had been a very hot day. To the westward dense clouds of smoke from the bush fires rolled over the interminable gums. The tang of the eucalyptus pervaded the whole town- ship as the light wind puffed its hot breath in the faces of the few people who were about. But there was a distinct air of anticipation upon the faces of the loafers on the verandah of the public house, and it was repeated in every line of the graceful figure that had now moved a few steps from the store and stood silhouetted against the sky line. ¶ Presently a faint pulsation vibrat- ed in the heated air. It was hardly {a definite sound, scarcely more than} a whisper of a welcome breeze. But in a few moments it sounded like the purring of a very small cat a very long way off. And in a few seconds more it was like the whir- ring of wings. ¶ “ `Ere comesʶ Bert, all right, ” re- marked Joe Peterson, malevolently scowling in the direction of quiet Tom Broughton, who was peacefully blowing little clouds of tobacco smoke into the heated air and wat- ching the wreaths and spirals as they vanished into invisibility. ¶ Tom Braughton° stepped off the verandah and out into the dusty, red road, noting at the same time that Alice Hardy on the other side had suddenly become brisk, alert, and vividly expectant. As both the man and the woman looked out into the clear sky they became aware of a black spot that was rapidly be- coming larger, and a humming sound like the booming of bees came to their ears. Quickly the black spot grew, and, in a few seconds more, touched with the rosy light of the westering sun, it revealed itself in the likeness of an enormous insect with outstretched, gilded wings, ex- tended tail, and two short legs tucked up in front. ¶ “ It`s Bert, it`s Bert, ” said the young woman aloud, clapping her hands in joyous excitement, and heedless of the inquisitive eyes fixed upon her from the verandah across the road. ¶ “ Yes, it`s Bert, sure enough, ” echoed Tom Broughton, as he made his way with long, leisurely strides to the store and post office of the township, taking in Alice Hardy´s animation and frank pleasure at the approach of the flying man, with gloomy interest. ¶ The flying man performed a wide circle in the air ; then the aeroplane made a long, graceful glide towards the earth, touched the ground light- ly, and, running along on its own wheels, drew up in front of the door of the post office. ¶ “ What a long time you`ve been, Bert, ” said the young woman brisk- ly. “ Had a good trip this time ? ” ¶ “ Right enough, thank you, Mrs. Hardy, ” replied the young fellow as he stepped out of the aeroplane and came forward with a flashing smile for the pretty postmistress, and a dancing light in his black eyes. Under the ear-flaps of the closely-fitting storm-cap his hair showed dark and curly. ¶ “ The smoke from the bush fires bothered me a bit as I came over the ranges, ” he added, “ and I was up about as high as the engines could take me, but she came along like a bird. It was hot work while it lasted, and I had to put on my blue goggles to save my eyes, but Black Swan kept moving, and she has done her hundred miles in a little under the two hours, so I`ve nothing to complain about. Wait a minute and I`ll fetch out the bags. ” ¶ The young man went back to the machine and pulled open the door of a large square receptacle placed im- mediately below the driving belt. He hauled out two large mail bags lock- ed with padlocks and dragged them into the post office. Then he threw out a miscellaneous collection of brown paper parcels, small boxes, bundles, and packages of every con- ceivable shape — the daily parcel post carried by a paternal Government through its trusty agent, Bert Milli- gan, for the benefit of the inhabit- ants of Waratah Valley township. ¶ “ A heavy mail this evening, ” said the mailman, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. “ Over two hun- dred and fifty pounds altogether. A good job I had no passenger as well, or Black Swan would never have crossed the range, and I`d have had to go round by Fossicker´s Gap, an extra fifty miles at least. Thanky, Missus, here`s to your bright eyes. ” ¶ He drained the long glass of foam- ing beer that Alice Hardy handed to him with a bright smile and a mur- mured : “ Oh, go along with you, Bert, you know you don`t mean it. ” ¶ Then he sat down on an empty candle box and proceeded to fill his pipe, while Tom Broughton, outside, after giving one searching glance into the store, turned on his heel and strode off down the road biting the ends of his long, black moustache savagely. ¶ Joe Peterson, with a gleam of malicious joy in his squinny eye, slouched across the road and stood in the doorway of the post office. ¶ “ Got any letters for me, Bert ? ” he asked with a painful effort to ap- pear unconcerned. “ It`s about time I got er love letter, ain`t it, missus ? ” ¶ But Mrs. Hardy stamped her foot indignantly. ¶ “ You get along out of this, Joe Peterson, ” she cried angrily, “ you`re for ever prowlin` about where you`re not wanted. There are no letters for you, I tell you, so out you go. ” ¶ Plainly there was no love lost be- tween Joe and the postmistress — on her side, at any rate. ¶ “ All right, Missus, ” retorted Joe, with an angry glint in his eye. “ I jest looked in to see if Tom and the kid were home yet. He passed me this mornin` with all his gear in the runabout, an` told me he was goin` to put in ter-morrer clearin` his sec- tion on Big Hill. `Spect he won`t be home ter-day. ” And with a malevo- lent grin at the angry bush beauty behind the counter and the muscular young mailman who was smiling at her with obvious infatuation, the cross-eyed one slouched out into the road, and across to the verandah of the shanty again. ¶ “ Nice pair of beauts they are, ” said Joe Peterson to Bill the hotel- keeper with a sideways jerk of his thumb towards the store. “ Ratty, that`s wot I call `em. Did y` ever see such a pair of loonies in yer natcheral, Bill ? ” ¶ “ Oh, yes, ” answered the grizzled hotel keeper, after a moment´s thought. He had spent a lifetime in the township, and was over sixty years of age. ¶ “ Larst postmistress was jest as bad. Mailman used to ride in them days. But, bless yer, mailmen is the devil with postmistresses. It don`t matter a bean whether the mailman rides a horse or drives a flying mach- ine. If he sees a pretty postmistress married or single, he`s bound to make love to her. `E`d do the same if he had to ride the mails on a bullock or carry `em in a submarine. People don`t change their `abits, Joe, `cos of new ways of movin` about. Beer ? ” ¶ Joe indicated that the progress of scientific invention had made no change in his habits as regards beer, and, with a long glass at his elbow, he settled down to watch the door of the post office. His squinny eye was firmly fixed on the local hall — beyond Cassidy´s lucerne patch — and his free eye appeared to sweep the horizon, from the pepper trees round the constable´s neat little house to the rolling clouds of smoke that rose from the bush fires in the west. But the post office was the real object of observation. It was quite half an hour before Bert Milligan came out whistling, stepped into his aeroplane and ran her round on her own wheels into the shed in the paddock at the back of the store. ¶ “ Supper, father ! ” called a fresh young voice inside the hotel, and Wilga Blake, with the sleeves of her blouse rolled up to her elbows, ap- peared in the doorway with a sum- mons that Tom Blake never disre- garded. A fresh and happy girl was Wilga, with a rougish° eye and a large honest mouth adorned with perfect teeth. She rounded up her father and old Silas Weldon, the perman- ent boarder, — and she cast an eager glance around the verandah for some one else. It might have been Tom Broughton for whom she was look- ing, but, at any rate, pretty Wilga was obviously disappointed, and she went back into the house with an impatient shrug of her shapely shoul- ders and a thoughtful glance in the direction of the store opposite. ¶ “ Another of them cursed airyo- planes, ” grumbled old Silas, with his mouth full of juicy steak, cooked by Wilga and served by the same alert young woman, who was an ex- pert housekeeper and looked after her father and the hotel ever since her mother had died a few years be- fore. She bustled about and laid an extra plate for the casual stranger who had just come in — a young fel- low by the name of Robins, in the soap and candle line. ¶ “ They brought bad luck for you, Silas, annyway, ” said Tom Blake. ¶ “ They did so, ” replied Silas, gloomily. ¶ “ How`s that ? ” asked the soap ex- pert, pricking up his ears. ¶ “ If it hadn`t been for them smelly things I`d have been in the ring still, ” said Silas. ¶ “ Did ye ever see Jeffries fight in the old days ? ” asked Robins eager- ly. ¶ “ Circus ring was my game, young feller, not fighting, ” said the old man severely. “ My name`s Weldon — Silas Weldon. ” ¶ “ Not Weldon of the ‘ Greatest Show on Earth ’ ? ” put in Robins. ¶ “ The same, ” responded Silas, dis- secting a large, nicely-browned onion with a practised hand. ¶ “ I remember reading about it in the papers, ” said the visitor, with thoroughly awakened interest. “ And to think that you are really Silas Weldon, ‘ the heroic ring master. ’ That`s what they called you in the paper. Why, it was the biggest cat- astrophe of its kind, that ever hap- pened in Australia. ” ¶ “ That`s so, ” murmured the old man with mournful pride. “ I`ll trouble you for the onions again, my dear. ” ¶ Wilga placed the steaming dish be- fore him, and he helped himself lib- erally to the consoling vegetable. ¶ “ But the papers didn`t get all the facts quite right, ” went on the old man. “ It was a good many years ago, and on Christmas Eve, that it happened. Me and Dan Feeney, my partner, was doing well in them days. Twenty horses, two trick ponies, and the elephant. Fritz, the strong man, and Stella St. Maur — that was Polly Feeney — for the bare- back arts, and George Briggs, the clown, and Kioto, the Japanese jug- gler, besides the ten men and wag- gon hands. We was making twenty notes a week when the fire came and blew me out for good. ” ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER I. — IN WARATAH VALLEY. ¶ “ It certainly is a hole ! ” ¶ The statement was made with the calm and reasoned force of a judicial utterance. Yet, to the uninitiated, there was no sign of any orifice. ¶ From the doorway in which the speaker stood the chief feature of the landscape was a straggly, interminable, red-brown road, with a bush hotel in the foreground, a few scattered, tin-roofed houses in the middle distance, and, be- hind them, the mighty rampart of gum- covered ranges. ¶ It was a woman who pronounced the judicial utterance, and she stood in the doorway of the store and post-office of Waratah Valley. ¶ Waratah Valley was the hole. ¶ The woman was young and very good to look upon, by reason of her large grey eyes, her face, which was intelli- gent as well as beautiful, and her sweet- ly-moulded figure. But, as she pro- nounced her decision the corners of her mouth were drawn down disapproving- ly. Plainly she was dissatisfied with the prospect ; and yet there was some- thing in her attitude that betokened pleasurable expectancy. ¶ She looked up at the sky long and earnestly. With her shapely head a little thrown back, her plump arms bare to the elbows, and her hands resting on the graceful contour of her hips, she made such a pretty picture that the loafers on the verandah of the shanty across the road turned their eyes in her direction more than once. ¶ “ Who d`yer think she`s lookin` for, eh, Joe ? ” said a tall, lean individual, with the far-away gaze and deliberate manner of the bushman born and bred, as he thoughtfully rolled the shavings of sticky black tobacco between his nubbly hands. ¶ “ Don`t yer wish it was for you ? ” re- plied the other, a little, squinny-eyed man, with a disagreeable smile that showed a mouthful of strong yellow teeth. “ I reckon Alice Hardy`s a heap too good-looking to be contented in this place, an`, if her husband don`t make a move soon, she`ll go for a trip with- out him one of these days. ” ¶ “ Did y` ever hear wot happened to the chap that kept shovin` his nose into other people´s fam`ly concerns, Joe ? ” in- quired the long and lanky one, with a tired drawl. ¶ “ Can`t reck`lect this minute, Tom, ” said Joe, uncomfortably. ¶ “ Got it flattened, ” said Tom Brough- ton in a whisper that was apparently ad- dressed to the floor, but he looked up and fixed the feebly-grinning Joe with the far-away gaze that seemed to see right through that worthy´s grimy, Cri- mean shirt, and into the inmost recesses of the wearer´s equally grimy and un- pleasant mind. “ An` don`t you forget it, either, ” added the speaker, signifi- cantly, “ `specially if it`s Alice Hardy´s concerns. ” Then he turned slowly to- wards the hotelkeeper, who stood in the doorway in his shirt sleeves. “ `Bout time for the mail, ain`t it, Bill ? ” ¶ Bill Blake slowly nodded his massive head, at the same time winking sur- reptitiously at squinny-eyed Joe, the calumniator of beauty. And still the woman at the store across the road stood in front of the entrance, and, with head thrown back, stared out into the sky to- wards the east. ¶ It had been a very hot day. To the westward dense clouds of smoke from the bush fires rolled over the intermin- able gums. The tang of the eucalyptus pervaded the whole township as the light wind puffed its hot breath in the faces of the few people who were about. But there was a distinct air of anticipa- tion upon the faces of the loafers on the verandah of the public house, and it was repeated in every line of the grace- ful figure that had now moved a few steps from the store and stood silhouet- ted against the sky blue. ¶ Presently a faint pulsation vibrated in the heated air. It was hardly a definite sound, scarcely more than a whisper of a welcome breeze. But in a few mo- ments it sounded like the purring of a very small cat a very long way off. And in a few seconds more it was like the whirring of wings. ¶ “ `Ere comes Bert, all right, ” remark- ed Joe Peterson, malevolently scowling in the direction of quiet Tom Brough- ton, who was peacefully blowing little clouds of tobacco smoke into the heated air and watching the wreaths and spirals as they vanished into invisibility. ¶ Tom Broughton stepped off the veran- dah and out into the dusty, red road, noting at the same time that Alice Hardy on the other side had suddenly become brisk, alert and vividly expect- ant. As both the man and the woman looked out into the clear sky they be- came aware of a black spot that was rapidly becoming larger, and a humming sund° like the booming of bees came to their ears. Quickly the spot grew, and, in a few seconds more, touched with the rosy light of the westering sun, it re- vealed itself in the likeness of an enor- mous insect with outstretched, gilded wings, extended tail, and two short legs tucked up in front. ¶ “ It`s Bert, it`s Bert, ” said the young woman aloud, clapping her hands in joy- ous excitement, and heedless of the in- quisitive eyes fixed upon her from the verandah across the road. ¶ “ Yes, it`s Bert, sure enough, ” echoed Tom Broughton, as he made his way with long, leisurely strides to the store and post office of the township, taking in Alice Hardy´s animation and frank pleasure at the approach of the flying man, with gloomy interest. ¶ The flying man performed a wide circle in the air ; then the aeroplane made a long, graceful glide towards the earth, touched the ground lightly, and, running along on its own wheels, drew up in front of the door of the post- office. ¶ “ What a long time you`ve been, Bert, ” said the young woman, briskly. “ Had a good trip this time ? ” ¶ “ Rich° enough, thank you, Mrs. Hardy, ” replied the young fellow as he stepped out of the aeroplane and came forward with a flashing smile for the pretty postmistress, and a dancing light in his black eyes. Under the ear-flaps of the closely-fitting storm-cap his hair showed dark and curly. ¶ “ The smoke from the bush fires bother- ed me a bit as I came over the ranges, ” he added, “ and I was up about as high as the engines could take me, but she came along like a bird. It was hot work while it lasted, and I had to put on my blue goggles to save my eyes, but “ Black Swan ” kept moving, and she has done her hundred miles in a little under the two hours, so I`ve nothing to complain about. Wait a minue° and I`ll fetch out the bags. ” ¶ The young man went back to the ma- chine and pulled open the door of a large, square receptacle placed imme- diately below the driving seat. He hauled out two large mail-bags locked with padlocks and dragged them into the post office. Then he threw out a miscellaneous collection of brown paper parcels, small boxes, bundles and pack- ages of every conceivable shape — the daily parcel post carried by a paternal Government through its trusty agent, Bert Milligan, for the benefit of the in- habitants of Waratah Valley township. ¶ “ A heavy mail this evening, ” said the mailman, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. “ Over two hundred and fifty pounds altogether. A good job I had no passenger as well, as “ Black Swan ” would never have crossed the range, and I`d have had to go round by Fossicker´s Gap, an extra fifty miles at least. Thanky, Missus, here`s to your bright eyes. ” ¶ He drained the long glass of foaming beer that Alice Hardy handed to him with a bright smile and a murmured : “ Oh, go along with you, Bert, you know you don`t mean it. ” ¶ Then he sat down on an empty candle box and proceeded to fill his pipe, while Tom Broughton, outside, after giving one searching glance into the store, turned on his heel and strode off down the road biting the ends of his long, black moustache savagely. ¶ Joe Peterson, with a gleam of mali- cious joy in his squinny eye, slouched across the road and stood in the door- way of the post office. ¶ “ Got any letters for me, Bert ? ” he asked with a painful effort to appear un- concerned. “ It`s about time I got er love letter, ain`t it, missus. ” ¶ But Mrs. Hardy stamped her foot in- dignantly. ¶ “ You get along out of this, Joe Peter- son, ” she cried angrily, “ you`re for ever prowlin` about where you`re not wanted. There are no letters for you, I tell you, so out you go. ” ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER 2. — ( Continued ). ¶ “ Now, no foolery Bert. ” She quickly disengaged herself from the encircling arm. “ You`ve got to take me home at once. Don`t make any mistake about that. ” ¶ The young man´s face became a dusky red. He was on the point of losing control over himself. But the woman, cool and collected, parried every move with quick dexterity. What a fool she had been, she said to herself bitterly, to encourage the brusque advances of this bush Love- lace. True, she had allowed herself to think of going away with him al- together, but that was a different matter. It was remote and problem- atical. It had presented itself to her mind as a mere contingency, a possi- ble means of escape from the dead- ly monotony of Waratah Valley. She had hardly realised the half premedi- tated elopment° as an actuality. And now here was the admirer who had been regarded by her in the light of a mere agent in her liberation, actu- ally endeavouring to make instant and desperate love to her. It was a ridiculous predicament, but not de- void of peril. ¶ “ Now, Bert, be a good boy, and, for heaven´s sake, don`t annoy me and don`t spoil the pleasure of this perfect night. Get up and put the basket into the box. I really must be getting back. ” ¶ “ Well, of all the ——— ” ¶ “ That`ll do, Bert. I`m not going to argue with you. I daresay I was a fool to come with you, but — but —— ” ¶ “ But you`ve quite misunderstood me, Bert. I came because I wanted to enjoy a new experience — because I wanted to sail through the clouds and moonlight, and to leave the earth and all its follies far beneath me. I wanted to see the world as I`ve never had a chance of seeing it before — all starlit and mysterious and far away. And — do try to un- derstand me, Bert — I really didn`t want you, yourself, at all. ” ¶ “ Thank you for nothing, ” replied Bert furiously, “ where did you get all that tommyrot from ? Stars and clouds and moonlight indeed ! Look here, you aren`t going to make a fool of me. D`ye hear that ? ” ¶ His face was dark with baffled pas- sion. He was an unlovely sight. ¶ “ How dare you talk to me like that ? ” retorted the woman icily. “ Do you take me for a silly little fool of a girl that you can do what you like with ? I`ll tell you what it is, Bert Milligan, I`ve a good mind never to speak to you again as long as I live, and it wouldn`t cost me one regret either. ” ¶ Then Bert broke down and humbled himself at her feet. He positively grovelled before the angry but still apprehensive beauty. Hadn`t she pro- mised to go away with him for ever — to soar aloft from Waratah Valley in the “ Black Swan, ” and to mave° a home with him in some great city where life was life, and not mere barren existence. She had, he vowed she had. Hadn`t she told him over and over again that she was eating her heart out among the intermin- able gums, and that she longed and yearned for the busy, crowded streets, for the glittering shops and the packed theatres, for music and song, and all the joyous clamour of aggregate humanity. ¶ Alice Hardy´s lip curled contemptu- ously. What if she had said all that ? ” Was it any reason why he should behave like a lunatic in that remote solitude ? She walked off decisively towards the aeroplane, and took her place in the seat near the engine without another word. ¶ Bert´s brow was as black as thun- der. He took his seat beside her and touched the “ buzzer. ” The pur- ring of the propellers broke the in- tense stillness of the night as “ Black Swan ” glided forward over the smooth sand for a score of yards, and then, soaring beautilully°, sped away westward towards the dark mass of the distant ranges. ¶ For some minutes neither of them spoke. All Bert´s attention was concentrated on his engine, and Alice was thinking so hard that the wondrous panorama of the night passed by her almost unperceived. ¶ What did she really want ? Not this stolid, unintellectual, but mira- culously clever human animal at her side with his mechanical dexterity, his terrifying flashes of very earth- ly passion, and his utter lack of in- sight and comprehension. She cer- tainly did not want him except as a kind of ladder by which she might climb into some new region or vague- ly-desired experiences. What did she really feel ? Not love for Bert Milli- gan. Deep down in her heart she knew that she still loved Tom Hardy, with all his irritating absent-mind- edness and his preoccupations with cranks, pistons, combustion-engines storage batteries, and smelly things outside the range of her comprehen- sion, and therefore of her interest. He was her man. He was the father of her child — the father of little Ben- ny, whose frank eyes looked into her very soul, and whose small hands dung to her heart still as they had clung to her bosom only a year or two ago. Big Tom was the centre, and little Benny the periphery of her existence. She was sure of that. And, being sure of it, she asked herself in perplexity why she had begun to play with fire. Why had she encouraged Bert Milligan to stare at her with his big, dark eyes to hold her cool, slim fingers in his hot, hard hands, and to take her riding with him through the sum- mer night like a witch on a broom- stick ? Why did she do it ? Why ? ¶ And she told herself that it was because her brain and heart were not in unison. Her mind aspiring, eag- er for effort and activity, rebelied° against the deadly, stupifying same- ness of Waratah Valley, even while her heart clung instinctively to the husband who loved her and the child whose world was central in her face. Thought and feeling were in conflict. The mad longing to come into contact with the full stream of life and to meet men and women who could show her ever widening vistas in the great landscape of ex- istence was an impulse generated in her brain. But her love for Tom and little Benny was interwoven to the very texture of her whole being. If anyone ever tri- ed to take Tom from her —— ? ¶ As “ Black Swan ” sailed on through the night, high over the tallest tim- ber on the rangy country that lay between the sea and the distant township, the propellers at times drove her through light clouds that foamed like billows around her planes, and at times through a tran- quil sea of starshine. Bert Milligan, gloomy and morose, fixed all his at- tention on the steering wheel as lie listened intently to the rhythmical drumming of the engine, and Alice Hardy, with close-pressed lips, star- ed wide-eyed straight before her. Neither spoke. Yet in the heart and brain of each a tumult raged. Bert cursed himself only for a fool. Why did he spend his days and nights in trying to conquer this lovely and inaccessible creature who could build an invisible wall around her with a word and a look, and who, when he tried to leap the barrier, soared lightly aloft into regions where his heavy materialism could not follow her ? In his calmer mo- ments he could realise the folly, but then again the sight of her clear- cut beauty beside him, and the in- voluntary touch of her arm upon his drove him back into his unreasoning mad infatuation. ¶ Alice Hardy, who sat beside him in silence, was also shaken by a storm of emotions. She asked her- self indignantly how she could ever have tolerated the rough advances such a man as Bert Milligan, whose very touch in her more ethereal moments seemed contamination, and whose mind was as uncultivated as the stony ranges that fled away be- neath her feet. Yet there had been moments as she was compelled to admit to her accusing consciousness, when his presence had thrilled her, and when all his intellectual dis- abilities had vanished like casual un- essential dust in the grip of a gale. What was this mystery of attraction that defied reason and common sense and that steadily grew stronger the more she gave to it ? She told her- self bitterly that there were times whan she was like a bird in the pre- sence of a snake, held and fascinat- ed by some baleful magic that de- fied all the strength of her deliber- ate judgment. And then again there arose in the mirror of her brain the reflection of the long, dull days at Waratah Valley— the verandah of the hotel across the road —Bill Blake pottering about in his shirt sleeves, and Wilga, young, round-bosomed and eager-eyed, singing gaily with her exasperating and incomprehensible contentment. Alice felt a cool shiv- er down her spine. She was older — several years older — than Wilga. The spring time of life was slipping past. Was she doomed to waste it all in Waratah Valley, while far away beyond the imprisoning rang- es was life with all its dazzling col- ours and infinite variety ? ¶ And then, as she looked down from her seat, she saw that “ Black Swan ” was approaching well known landmarks. Surely that dimly-seen outline of gradual slope ending in a round, skull-like summit, bare of vegetation, was Mount Baldy. And the cleared patch on the lower level was mad Mick Mahony´s. ¶ Her eyes followed the sweep of the range as it rose from Mount Baldy´s thick bull neck to the long plateau of Big Hill, the highest point of the chain thereabouts. ¶ Big Hill — that was her husband´s land. She was nearing — home ! ¶ “ Black Swan ” sped on with her easy, tireless flight, but Bert Milli- gan cast anxious glances at the aneroid barometer fixed in an alum- inium bracket next the elevating lev- er. They were 1900 feet high, and al- though he had often flown over Big Hill alone he had never taken a passenger over it before. The pla- teau was ten miles long, and it av- eraged about 2000 feet above sea level. To go round by Fossicker´s Gap meant another thirty miles at least. He opened her out a bit more, and increased the number of revolutions to counterbalance the decreased density of the air, which at that height gave much diminish- ed support to the air planes. ¶ “ Black Swan ” responded instantly to the increased impulse, and Bert gave the front plane another inch of elevation. The machine seemed to quicken its. stride like a steeplechaser approaching a big leap, and Bert Mil- ligan felt instinctively that his con- fidence in her was not misplaced. ¶ Alice Hardy, pearing° down from her perch, saw the long plateau of Big Hill passing beneath her. And then she saw the downward slope of the mountain beginning, and a small clearing just where the grass land pushed up to the edge of the big timber. Somebody had cut out a big hunk of the timber, as a slice might be cut from a Brobdingnagian cheese. ¶ In the middle of the cleared space a fire of heavy logs was burning. The great fire glowed redly like the hearth fire of a home, and, at a distance of a few yards from the cheery blaze, was a splitter´s tent, so placed that the feet of the sleep- ers inside it were turned towards the fire. ¶ Alice Hardy pulled the woollen wrap more closely round her shoul- ders. It was piercingly cold at that height. But when she saw the split- ter´s tent a glow of warmth diffused itself through her whole body, as though she stood by the camp-fire below. ¶ Big Tom and little Benny were sleeping in the splitter´s tent. ¶ Alice Hardy knew it, and her lips and eyes bloomed into a happy smile. ¶ Bert Milligan knew it, too, and as he marked the expression on his companion´s face his dark brow grew gloomier than before. ¶ What chance was there for him with this glorious woman who had bewitched him, if the sight of that tent and camp fire in the bush could bring such a light into her eyes ? What chance indeed ? ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER II. — A TRIP THROUGH CLOUDLAND. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ Alice Hardy, who sat beside him in silence, was also shaken by a storm of emotions. She asked herself indignant- ly how she could ever have tolerated the rough advances of such a man as Bert Milligan, whose very touch in her more ethereal moments seemed contamina- tion, and whose mind was as unculti- vated as the stony ranges that fled away beneath her feet. Yet there had been moments, as she was compelled to admit to her accusing consciousness, when his presence had thrilled her, and when all his intellectual disabilities had vanished like casual unessential dust in the grip of a gale. What was this mystery of attraction that defied reason and com- mon sense, and that steadily grew stronger the more she gave way to it ? She told herself bitterly that there were times when she was like a bird in the presence of a snake, held and fascin- ated by some baleful magic that defied all the strength of her deliberate judg- ment. And then again there arose in the mirror of her brain the reflection of the long, dull days at Waratah Valley — the verandah of the hotel across the road — Bill Blake pottering about in his shirt sleeves, and Wilga, young, round- blossomed° and eager-eyed, singing gaily with her exasperating and incomprehen- sible contentment. Alice felt a cold shiver down her spine. She was older — several years older — than Wilga. The spring time of life was slipping past. Was she doomed to waste it all in Waratah Valley, while far away beyond the imprisoning ranges was life with all its dazzling colors and infinite variety ? ¶ And then, as she looked down from her seat, she saw that Black Swan was approaching well known landmarks. Surely that dimly-seen outline of grad- ual slope ending in a round, skull-like summit, bare of vegetation, was Mount Baldy. And the cleared patch on the lower level was mad Mick Mahony´s. ¶ Her eyes followed the sweep of the range as it rose from Mount Baldy´s thick bull neck to the long plateau of Big Hill, the highest point of the chain thereabouts. ¶ Big Hill — that was her husband´s land. She was nearing — home ! ¶ Black Swan sped on with her easy, tireless flight, but Bert Milligan cast anxious glances at the aneroid barom- eter fixed in an aluminium bracket next the elevating lever. They were 1900 ft,° high, and though he had often flown over Big Hill alone he had never taken a passenger over it before. The plateau was ten miles long, and it averaged about 2000 ft. above sea level. To go round by Fossicker´s Gap meant another thirty miles at least. He opened her out a bit more, and increased the num- ber of revolutions to counterbalance the decreased density of the air, which at that height gave much diminished sup- port to the air planes. ¶ Black Swan responded instantly to the increased impulse, and Bert gave the front plane another inch of elevation. The machine seemed to quicken its stride like a steeplechaser approaching a big leap, and Bert Milligan felt in- stinctively that his confidence in her was not misplaced. ¶ Alice Hardy, peering down from her perch, saw the long plateau of Big Hill passing beneath her. And then she saw the downward slope of the mountain be- ginning, and a small clearing just where the grass land pushed lip to the edge of the big timber. Somebody had cut out a big hunk of the timber, as a slice might be cut from a Brobdingnagian cheese. ¶ In the middle of the cleared space a fire of heavy logs was burning. The great logs glowed redly like the hearth fire of a home, and, at a distance of a few yards from the cheery blaze, was a splitter´s tent, so placed that the feet of the sleep- ers inside it were turned towards the fire. ¶ Alice Hardy pulled the woollen wrap more closely round her shoulders. It was piercingly cold at that height. But when she saw the splitter´s tent a glow of warmth diffused itself through her whole body, as though she stood by the camp-fire below. ¶ Big Tom and little Benny were sleep- ing in the splitter´s tent. ¶ Alice Hardy knew it, and her lips and eyes bloomed into a happy smile. ¶ Bert Milligan knew it, too, and as he marked the expression on his compan- ion´s face his dark brow grew gloomier than before. ¶ What chance was there for him with this glorious woman who had bewitched him, if the sight of that tent and camp fire in the bush could bring such a light into her eyes ? What chance indeed ?

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER II. — A TRIP THROUGH CLOUDLAND. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ Alice Hardy laughed bitterly. “ You`ve just about hit it, Bert, ” she said. ¶ “ I never could see what you wanted to marry Tom Hardy for, all the same, ” contiued° Bert in an aggrieved tone. “ A man like him who spends all his time trying to do everything in life by ma- chinery hasn`t any right to get married to a girl with a head full of poetry and a heart full of —— ” ¶ “ What, Bert ? ” ¶ “ Blest if I know, Al. I don`t believe you`ve ever been really in love with any man. You don`t seem to know what love is. But I`m going to teach you. ” ¶ He sat up beside her. His arm stole round her waist and she let it remain there. He was quite right, she reflected. She did not crave for love because it was love — but because it was excite- ment. Something to lift her out of the deadly rut of every-day existence. And then she wanted to be loved, too, be- cause she wanted to exult in her own power, to realise that she wielded a com- pelling influence over this man, to feel that her beauty was a potent instrument for the subjection of another human being to her will. Her charm was a wea- pon by which she would fight her way to new experiences — not a gift to be bestowed with the unthinking generos- ity of complete devotion. ¶ Yet Bert was a handsome young ani- mal — there was no denying it. And he had a taking way with women. In the steady stare of his bold, dark eyes Alice Hardy read danger. And she promptly gripped the situation. ¶ “ Now, no foolery, Bert. ” She quickly disengaged herself from the encircling arm. “ You`ve got to take me home at once. Don`t make any mistake about that. ” ¶ The young man´s face became a dusky red. He was on the point of losing con- trol over himself. But the woman, cool and collected, parried every move with quick dexterity. What a fool she had been, she said to herself bitterly, to en- courage the brusque advances of this bush Lovelace. True, she had allowed herself to think of going away with him altogether, but that was a different mat- ter. It was remote and problematical. It had presented itself to her mind as a mere contingency, a possible means of escape from the deadly monotony of Waratah Valley. She had hardly rea- lised the half premeditated elopement as an actuality. And now here was the admirer who had been regarded by her in the light of a mere agent in her liberation, actually endeavoring to make instant and desperate love to her. It was a ridiculous predicament, but not devoid of peril. ¶ “ Now, Bert, be a good boy, and, for heaven´s sake, don`t annoy me and don`t spoil the pleasure of this perfect night. Get up and put the basket into the box. I really must be getting back. ” ¶ “ Well, of all the —— ” ¶ “ That`ll do, Bert. I`m not going to argue with you. I daresay I was a fool to come with you, but — but —— ” ¶ “ But what, Al ? ” ¶ “ But you`ve quite misunderstood me, Bert. I came because I wanted to en- joy a now experience — because I wanted to sail through the clouds and moon light, and to leave the earth and all its follies far beneath me. I wanted to see the world as I`ve never had a chance of seeing it before — all starlit and mysteri- ous and far away. And — do try to un- derstand me, Bert — I really didn`t want you, yourself, at all. ” ¶ “ Thank you for nothing, ” replied Bert furiously, “ where did you get all that tommyrot from ? Stars and clouds and moonlight indeed ! Look here, you aren`t going to make a fool of me. D`ye hear that ? ” ¶ His face was dark with baffled passion. He was an unlovely sight. ¶ “ How dare you talk to me like that ? ” retorted the woman icily. “ Do you take mo for a silly little fool of a girl that you can do what you like with ? I`ll tell you what it is, Bert Milligan, I`ve a good mind never to speak to you again as long as I live, and it wouldn`t cost me one regret either. ” ¶ Then Bert broke down and humbled himself at her feet. He wept, he prayed, and he implored forgiveness. He posi- tively grovelled before the angry but still apprehensive beauty. Hadn`t she promised to go away with him for ever — to soar aloft from Waratah Valley in the Black Swan, and to make a home with him in some great city where life was life, and not mere barren existence ? She had, he vowed, she had. Hadn`t she told him over and over again that she was eating her heart out among the interminable gums, and that she longed and yearned for the busy, crowded streets, for the glittering shops and the packed theatres, for music and song, and all the joyous clamor of aggregate hu- manity. ¶ Alice Hardy´s lip curled contemptuous- ly. What if she had said all that ? Was it any reason why he should behave like a lunatic in that remote solitude ? She walked off decisively towards the aero- plane, and took her place in the seat next the engine without another word. ¶ Bert´s brow was as black as thunder. he took his seat beside her and touched the “ buzzer. ” The purring of the pro- pellers broke the intense stillness of the night as Black Swan glided forward over the smooth sand for a score of yards, and then, soaring beautifully, sped away westward towards the dark mass of the distant ranges. ¶ For some minutes neither of them spoke. All Bert´s attention was con- centrated on his engine, and Alice was thinking so hard that the wondrous panorama of the night passed by her al- most unperceived. ¶ What did she really want ? Not this stolid, unintellectual, but miraculously clever human animal at her side with his mechanical dexterity, his terrifying flashes of very earthly passion, and his utter lack of insight and comprehension. She certainly did not want him except as a kind of ladder by which she might climb into some new region of vaguely- desired experiences. What did she real- ly feel ? Not love for Bert Milligan. Deep down in her heart she knew that she still loved Tom Hardy, with all his irritating absent-mindedness and his preoccupations with cranks, pistons, combustion-engines, storage-batteries and smelly things outside the range of her comprehension, and therefore of her interest. He was her man. He was the father of her child — the father of little Benny, whose frank eyes looked into her very soul, and whose small hands clung to her heart still as they had clung to her bosom only a year or two ago. Big Tom was the centre, and little Benny the periphery of her exist- ence. She was sure of that. And, be- ing sure of it, she asked herself in per- plexity why she had begun to play with fire. Why had she encouraged Bert Milligan to stare at her with his big, dark eyes, to hold her cool, slim fingers in his hot hard hands, and to take her riding with him through the summer night like a witch on a broomstick ? Why did she do it ? Why ? ¶ And then she told herself that it was because her brain and heart were not in unison. Her mind aspiring, eager for effort and activity, rebelled against the deadly, stupifying sameness of Waratah Valley, even while her heart clung in- stinctively to the husband who loved her and the child whose world was centred in her face. Thought and feeling were in conflict. The mad longing to come into contact with the full steam of life and to meet men and women who could show her ever widening vistas in the great landscape of existence was an im- pulse generated in her brain. But her love for Tom and little Benny was inter- woven into the very texture of her whole being. If anyone ever tried to take Tom from her —— ¶ As “ Black Swan ” sailed on through the night, high over the tallest timber on the rangy country that lay between the sea and the distant township, the propellers drove her at times through light clouds that foamed like billows around her planes, and at times through a tranquil sea of starshine. Bert Milli- gan, gloomy and morose fixed all his at- tention on the steering wheel as he lis- tened intently to the rhythmical drum ming of the engine, and Alice Hardy, with close-pressed lips, stared wide-eyed straight before her. Neither spoke. Yet in the heart and brain of each a tumult raged. Bert cursed himself only for a fool. Why did he spend his days and nights in trying to conquer this lovely and inaccessible creature who could build an invisible wall around her with a word and a look, and who, when he tried to leap the barrier, soared lightly aloft into regions where his heavy mate- rialism could not follow her ? In his calmer moments he could realise his folly, but then again the sight of her clear-cut beauty beside him, and the in- voluntary touch of her arm upon his, drove him back into his unreasoning mad infatuation. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. CHAPTER n.—A TRIP THROUGH • " CTtOUDUAim T^ill'was just* about: to - make a digni-! lied reply, when he caught sight, of a' lantern moving' at a., height 'of ;'aboiit... tliyee feetjfrpm the ground" along! tlie' path leadiiig from the. ppsthffice through tlie smalVp.aiMwfc' The conversation on" tlie verandah cqjne to a close "as though Jby, common consent, while the'tliree meii-w'atcHetl i tliji progress of : the lantern through'tlie darkness.~ • ~' ^Presently the light, stopped, still. A> curious muffled'sound came from''the re-i gion where it' shone "like a good: deed irt' a naughty world."." Then' the' light was extinguished. ' A,s9ft.p.ufrin'g,;as'bf some iripnstrqus feline, was all'that!"the eager; listeners could'hear, and'they could'see nothing. "Bert's got hisvsilencer on ,to-night," i muttered • Bill Blake. "Hp was telling; mfe'nSput it yestbrday.""! ."f^Vot for?" ejaculated Silas Weldon gloomily 1 / ;"In a general'. way of, speakin'," said; Bill Blake oracularly, r"when' a. young man dowses las candle and ,creeps along. th'er passage in his bare feet; I sliould ex pec! t»!fiiid:!adoor unlocked, somewheres. —-an'' specially, of the young man mailman." . 'A grunt from Silas;was the onlyvac kriowledgment of Bill's peis; . .. „ i perspicacity. The "otli'er two men \Vere tpo much interested .in-'listening.to the .engines of the "aifyp plane," muffled ■ by tlie rieV: silencer, tp psiy' muclrattention to BilFs reflections. ""Wot weight' does she carry, Bill ?"' in quired Mr. Weldon', ' with /apparent irre levance. ' " ' ' •"'Them Litligow lii-nlanes/.are built, to ■ li£Cf3501b. dead weight, as well as the weight of the eiiginpsj" replied the well informed :3Ir. Blake.' "Bert goes about 1501b. himself, and lie can take 2001b. of mads." A "' 1 There was a grunt frpm Mr.. Welddn. "It ain't, mails lie's takiid"to-night with' the silencer bn the engine^.Ilm thinkin'." ' Bnt;try. as-hard;as. they-would, the watchers : on the verandah' could not pierce' .the- darkness that* lay .between tliem' and tlie purring bi-plane scarcely, a hundred yards away." They heard the . purring sharpen softly, and pass into ah ascending scale! Then the big black cloud that had been voyaging slowly across the sky passed away to the north, and. looking straight ahead into the eye of the eastj the watcliers saw- the rug .. ged crescent of-the, moon. " Something like, a lhige black bat fleiv rapidly be tween- tlie' watcliers and the; moon. It was outlined in almost'brjlUaht black ness for-a fraction of a second against' the'gleaming silver background. Then the- purring grew faintcyaud' fainter, and the shadow faded and was lost: in the other, shadows of the lonely night-' • enfolded-.busk. Nobody spoke for at least a, minute. Tlien Miy "Robins yawned ostentatiously; and rose'from his chair with much noisy v. shuflling*pf the feet, i .: - ~ ''Tm just going; across to the store. ' Mr! Blake;" he remarked with an air of; almost painful unconcern/ "Mrs. Hardy might as* well'give mo'her.order to-niglit1 as to-morrow." • * *" • Afterdeii minutes of ineffectual knock ing MrV-Kobins returned quitp.satisfied that one' and tone are not'; aliyay's. merely' one and; one-,, lint are bccasjonaliy two. • A nd sothese: tlireeH-the - p.ublican, the old showman; and'.tKe glib young dealer iii soap arid'icandles—retfred to their re spective lonely cots with feelings of dreary dissatisfaction ami,vagtie envy of something! tliey. hardly, knew what. ' But high.lip in tlie p.elhVcid.midnight sky a transfigured, postmistress', nnd; a beatifiedtmailman ' wliispefed.' together under tlie "stars/ Bar; below tliem was the earttewitli'its Tb^etiial; limitations and unfc'ejisiiig restrictions, its narrow outloolcffor each Jowly crawler upprr the surface,• its' definite and' hafefjdly; fami; liar round; of 'petty tasks, its cramjiing code of Conduct, and the maddening thraldom/that' it creates out of 'circum stances Vfor the nnfortun'atp dopmed tp live' upon.- it. At least "tliat was how it struck Alice Hardy as she' leaned over from lier"seat beside. Bert, aiid looked down upon the twinkling lights of Wava tah Valley that were already mere dots of -yellow.; fire in the distance.' As for Bert, lie: was a mattpr-of-fact._p.erson even though he was very much in love.' His greatest pleasure, dpring the, woii derful journey wasderived from the fact that the new. silencer was acting splen didly. • .. Black Swan;' 'the Iiitligow hi-plane built,at the Government Small Arms Factory, and provided by the Post and JTelqgraplu Department[for the carriage of .Unails/betWe'eri' Waratah Valley' and, the terminus of the Brennan; monorail' ?ib Bptt}ebrush, was'flying in perfect or--' 3eri ._ ImitryVas one'of thote natural me? chaiiics" who "seem to 'tommandl'the will? ing' p.bediencp.'of. anything made out of brasg, steel, copper, or aluminium. The' aeroplane obeyed , his lightest pressure;,1 swooping or'.; sparing-dike'a., living thing, at the touch of the mailman's hand upon: the levers. All Bert's menjal,capacity"/ however, floiyed un'.the/channel 1 of me? chariical practice, and/ outside that, sphere,'his intellect was comparatively a blank, although hiS - temperament was: lively; 'There .*were. tjmes - whcnihe. disjfr tinctly jarred on' AliceTHaydy; in 'spite? i of the ihflnehpe'thdt he exercised ever'; | her. ■' ■ ■"■■'/'. • | The'highly-strung woman, with- her , restless,- unsatisfied ^nature. which , was, perpetually in. conflict _with the petty limitations of hornet'ljfe-at Warutau' .Valley,, tasted, undreamed of joys in this midnight ,flight through .space.. Tlie;mere; behsa'tion of .sohring ;or swooping, as .well as ofrrushing'onward,/intoxicated her hvith/a sense of hew freedom. How dif? ferent this. was frpm the /leaden-footed. 'wayfaring of humanity up and down.the .surface of tlib earth'. She felt the weight-, of .her corporeal self slipping, from lier.. She " almost guessed' at the delights of/ disembodiment:~ '. 'Bert,"''she 'wliisperedt as tlie dark;| trees glided^ beneath themj and ■ tlio night'wind tfanned their face's; "Bert, I'.J am in Heaven.'-' ' ' ■ • - : . I . "My wprd," replied Bert, .encouragA j ingly, "I' should thilik so. Mind you. "don't'get your liauds all over that mucky oil." '" As Black Swan still flew on an easterly course, witli the big propellers softly humming and the engine running ivitli miraculous quietness, the moon slowly climbed the sky in front of them, and' •the features of the landscape one by' one emerged from darkness. It was a wonderful nocturne in blue and silver," and Alice Hardy, who .was as sensitive to beauty as a "sunflower to the sun light,' thrilled'with the pure joy of the unique experience. The- red glarif of a, big-bush fire to the south lit lip. the great plateau that stretched away toiler rjght. On her left rose the. mighty bar rier of the ranges that overlooked Wafa tali Valley. Station.and homestead were diiu.ly cljarted'hohpatii" lief feehby many a feeble, flickering ' earth -light;' and above her. head. iyas tlie unquenchable glory, of: the stars. The red glare of the bush: firp and-.tlio .yellow poinfcj of light on the scattered "buildings stood out strapgely injtlie moonlight and'the star light! And .'Alice Hardy, who had been a school tenclier before she married Tom. and who still treasured the cony of Shelley's poems presented tp. her by an impressionable inspector, thrilled as she murmured to herself— "Life like a dome of. many-colored glass Stains the white- radiance,of Eternity." "Wbat-oh, A1J' Isii't "slio a h'osker?" broke in Bert Milligan, suddenly finding his-voice. "I've had'her oil tlie top speed since we started. We should be somewhere near the seii now. What do you say if we drop down and, have snack"of supper?"' ' ">'• "Tliere was a glint.in .the mailman's | isteady stare that; was decidedly' discon certing. ■■ V I "Just as you like, Bert," said, tlie wo man quietly.-; "I;feeirtTiat L'can' never th'a'nk Syou'enough for this, wonderful voyage, • It makes one feeLas.tlipiigu all the honds tjiat.tie one-to tlie earth, are temporarily broken, doesn't, it ?" v ; " Course it does',' Al," -responded her companion, che'erfuUy", "tliat-is,- if you say"'So.' I', ain't"'ih'uch'go*od; 011 poetry an' tliat kind; of; thing myself, but I do like to Leaf you-talk like -thatj. ".Why, it's as good as going .to tlie - theatre. Smell the'sea, eh?"V' ' • Alice Hardy'could see that, they were Wearing the . coast! In another minute "Black' Swan"' skimmed oyer tlie last mighty ridge, and, looking" down, the woman saw the moonlit Pacific sleeping tranquilly "far below. . It was the'crown ing sight' of. that unforgettable -journey. "My. word, that's a "bosliter beach for' fP-Wi+WhiVr isn't it,?. Now von iiist surf-bathing, isii't it?- Now you just sit, tight, and see iije drop, her."; "Bert cut off tlie ignition and: stopped the' engine, The soft, huni of; the pro pellers ceased, lint' the liiaciiine'liad been travelling fast, and the pipmeritiim was tremendous. . "Now we'll do a bit of tobogganing," observed; tfie'mailmgp. as lie sl|gl\tly de pressed" 'the' 'fro'nt-vpliine; 'a'pdv"Black J Swan" began to gli(]e earthward with a long, easy sweep/like that of an alba ti-oSs on steady wings. "When within I fifty feet pf the. ground, the mailman, with one light touch oii the'lever, alter ed the angle of descent/ and, judging his distance carefully, brought his' ma-" j chine to the selected-spot with con'suiii niate judgment. The aeroplane, aliglyt [ ed 011 the hard sand like some great sea bird, and, after running a few yards on its bicycle wheels came to a standstill. | "Good enough,'too," exclaimed Bert, | looking round at the lonely "crescent of [ white sand hounded at either horn' by beetling cliffs'and rock over which the long, slow rollers threw- up clouds of sil very spray.' They we're on a South -Coast bench to which the sea gulls were the. only visitors, and forthwith the mail man. sitting down beside his companion, insisted on spreading out the supper that he had brought with ln'm, packed away in the receptacle for His Majesty's mails. As they ate they talked in Ipw tones. The simple meal was soon finish ed as the moonlit surr .made firasic at their feet. Ahd'tlie every day world, of Waratah Valley was very far away: "Alice Hardy, stroked Bert's crisp'and curly hair wftli her pretty white fingers as he lay 011 - the sand with his; head on ' her lap. ; • . ■ . - ' . "You're a ;iiice "boy, Bert," she said, "but, you; dph't understand, me a hit. You understand me infinitely less than I understand that aeroplane,' of - yours;' For that matter does any. mail ever' nii derstand any . woman-A-or; does any1 Wo man ever, imderstand lmrsqlf?" "' ; "There isii't much' to:* understand =• in, most of them that I've 'met," said-Bert. "But of course you're "different, Al." Ajid. then the mailman had ohe of those rare gleams of; intuition ' that: sometimes: come even to the dullest. "You're "so 1 i :r..i win ran'l lieln being dis-' beautiful that you can't help being disA contented," I10 said,1 "and; so vell edu cated that you cim'tv help,' being- un happy." '. . . ,.. :b (To he Continued.)

¶ Love and the Æroplane. ¶ CHAPTER II. ¶ A TRIP THROUGH CLOUDLAND. ¶ Bill was just about to make a digni- fied reply when he caught sight of a lantern moving at a height of about three feet from the ground along the path leading from the post office through the small paddock at the side. ¶ The conversation on the verandah came to a close as though by common consent, while the three men watched the progress of the lantern through the darkness. ¶ Presently the light stopped still. A curious muffled sound came from the region where it shone “ like a good deed in a naughty world. ” Then the light was extinguished. A soft pur- ring, as of some monstrous feline, was all that the eager listener could hear, and they could see nothing. ¶ “ Bert´s got his new silencer on to- night, ” muttered Bill Blake. “ He was telling me about it yesterday. ” ¶ “ Wot for ? ” ejaculated Silas Wel- don gloomily. ¶ “ In a general way of speakin`, ” said Bill Blake oracularly, “ when a young man dowses his candle and creeps along the passage in his bare feet I should expec` to find a door un- locked somewhere — an` specially if the young man in a mailman. ” ¶ A grunt from Silas was the only ac- knowledgment of Bill´s perspicacity. The other two men were too much in- terested in listening to the engine of the “ airyoplane, ” muffled by the new silencer, to pay much attention to Bill´s reflection. ¶ “ Wot weight does she carry, Bill ? ” inquired Mr. Weldon with apparent ir- relevance. ¶ “ Them Lithgow biplanes are built to lift 350 lb. dead weight, as well as the weight of the engines, ” replied the well-informed Mr. Blake. “ Bert goes about 150 lb. himself, and he can take 200 lb. of mails. ” ¶ There was a grunt from Mr. Wel- don. “ It ain`t mails he`s takin` to- night with the silencer on the engine, I`m thinkin`. ” ¶ But try a hard as they would, the watchers on the verandah could not pierce the darkness that lay between them and the purring biplane scarcely a hundred yards away. They hear the purring sharpen softly, and pass into an ascending scale. Then the big black cloud that had been voyaging slowly across the sky passed away to the north, and, looking straight ahead into the eye of the east, the watchers saw the ragged crescent of the moon. Something like a huge black bat flew rapidly between the watchers and the moon. It was outlined in almost bril- liant blackness for a fraction of a sec- ond against the gleaming, silver back- ground. Then the purring grew fainter and fainter, and the shadow faded and was lost in the other shadows of the lonely, night-enfolded bush. ¶ Nobody spoke for at least a minute. Then Mr. Robins yawned ostentatious- ly, and rose from his chair with much noisy shuffling of the feet. ¶ “ I`m just going across to the store, Mr. Blake, ” he remarked with an air of almost painful unconcern. “ Mrs. Hardy might as well give me her or- der to-night as to-morrow. ” ¶ After ten minutes of ineffectual knocking Mr. Robins returned quite satisfied that one and one are not al- ways merely one and one, but are occa- sionally two. And so these three — the publican, the old showman, and the glib young dealer in soap and candles — retired to their respective lonely cots with feelings of dreary dissatisfaction and vague envy of something, they hardly knew what. ¶ But high up in the pellucid midnight sky a transfigured postmistress and a beautified mailman whispered together under the stars. Far below them was the earth with its perpetual limitations and unceasing restrictions, its narrow outlook for each lowly crawled upon the surface, its definite and hatefully familiar round of petty tasks, its cramping code of conduct and the mad- dening thraldom that it creates out of circumstances for the unfortunate doomed to live upon it. At least that was how it struck Alice Hardy as she leaned over from her seat beside Bert, and looked down upon the twinkling light of Waratah Valley that were al- ready mere dots of yellow fire in the distance. As for Bert, he was a matter of fact person even though he was very much in love. His greatest plea- sure during the wonderful journey was derived from the fact that the new sil- encer was acting splendidly. ¶ Black Swan, the Lithgow biplane built at the Government Small Arms Factory and provided by the Post and Telegraph Department for the carriage of mails between Waratah Volley and the terminus of the Brennan monorail at Bottlebrush, was flying in perfect order. Bert was one of those natural mechanics who seem to command the willing obedience of anything made out of brass, steel, copper, or aluminium. The aeroplane obeyed his lightest pres- sure, swooping or soaring like a living thing at the touch of the mailman´s hand upon the levers. All Bert´s men- tal capacity, however, flowed in the channel of mechanical practice, and, outside that sphere, his intellect was comparatively a blank, although his temperament was lively. There were times when he distinctly parred° on Alice Hardy in spite of the influence that he exercised over her. ¶ “ The highly-strung woman, with her restless, unsatisfied nature, which was perpetually in conflict with the petty limitation of home life at Waratah Valley, tasted undreamed of joys in this midnight flight through space. The mere sensation of soaring or swooping, as well as of rushing onward, intoxi- cated her with a sense of new freedom. How different this was from the leaden footed wayfaring of humanity up and down the surface of the earth ? She felt the weight of her corporeal self slipping from her. She almost guessed at the delights of disembodiment. ¶ “ Bert, ” she whispered, as the dark trees gilded beneath them and the night wind fanned their faces, “ Bert, I am in Heaven. ” ¶ “ My word, ” replied Bert, encour- agingly, “ I should think so. Mind you don`t get your hands all over that mucky oil. ” ¶ As Black Swan still flew on an east- erly course with the big propeller soft- ly humming and the engine, running slowly climbed the sky in front of them, and the features of the landscape one by one emerged from darkness. It was a wonderful nocturne in blue and silver, and Alice Hardy, who was as sensitive to beauty as a sunflower to the sunlight, thrilled with the pure joy of the unique experience. The red glare of a big big bush fire to the south lit up the great plateau that stretched away to her right. On her left rose the mighty barrier of the ranges that over- looked Waratah Valley. Station and homestead were dimly charted beneath her feet by many a feeble, flickering earth light, and above, her head was the unquenchable glory of the tar. The red glare of the bush fire and the yel- low points of light on the scattered building stood out strangely in the moonlight and the starlight. And Alice Hardy, who had been a school teacher before she married. Tom, and who still treasured the copy of Shelley´s poems presented to her by an impressionable inspector, thrilled as she murmured to herself : ¶ “ Life like a dome of many-coloured glass Stains the white radiance of Eternity. ” ¶ “ What-ah, Al ! Isn`t she a bosker ? ” broke in Bert Milligan, suddenly find- ing his voice. “ I`ve had her on the top speed since ww started. We should be somewhere near the sea now. What do you say if we drop down and have a snack of supper ? ” ¶ There was a glint in the mailman´s steady stare that was decidedly discon- certing. ¶ “ Just as you like, Bert, ” said the woman quietly. I feel that I can never thank you enough for this won- derful voyage. It makes one feel as though all the bonds that tie one to the earth are temporarily broken, doesn`t it ? ” ¶ “ `Course it does, Al, ” responded her companion cheerfully, “ that is, if you say so. I an`t much good on poetry, an` that kind of thing myself, but I do like to hear you talk like that. Why, it`s as good as going to the theatre. Smell the sea, eh ? ” ¶ Alice Hardy could see that they were nearing the coast. In another minute Black Swan skimmed over the last mighty ridge, and, looking down, the woman saw the moonlit Pacific sleeping tranquilly far below. It was the crowning sight of that unforgett- able journey. ¶ “ My word, that`s a bosker beach for surf bathing, isn`t it ? Now you just sit tight and see me drop her. ” ¶ Bert cut off the ignition and stopped the engine. The soft hum of the pro- peller ceased, but the machine had been travelling fast, and the momentum was tremendous. ¶ “ Now we`ll do a bit of toboggan- ing, ” observed the mailman, as he slightly depressed the front piano and Black Swan began to glide earthward with a long, easy sweep, like that of an albatross on steady wings. When with- in fifty feet of the ground the mailman, with one light touch of the lever, al- tered the angle of descent, and, judging his distance carefully, brought his ma- chine to the selected spot with consum- mate judgment. The aeroplane alighted on the hard sand like some great sea bird, and, after running a few yards on its bicycle wheels, came to a standstill. ¶ “ Good enough, too, ” exclaimed Bert, looking round at the lonely crescent of white sand bounded at either horn by beetling cliffs and rock, over which the long, slow billows threw up clouds of silvery spray. They were on a South Coast beach, to which the sea gulls were the only visitors, and forthwith the mailman, sitting down beside his companion, insisted on spreading out the supper that he had brought with him, packed away in the receptacle for His Majesty´s mails. As they ate they talked in low tones. The simple meal was soon finished as the moonlit surf made music at their feet. And the every-day world of Waratah Valley was very far away. ¶ Alice Hardy stroked Bert´s crisp and curly hair with her pretty white fingers as he lay on the sand with his head on her lap. ¶ “ You`re a nice boy, Bert, ” she said, “ but you don`t understand me a bit. You understand me infinitely less than I understand that aeroplane of yours. For that matter does any man ever un- derstand any woman — or does any woman ever understand herself ? ” ¶ “ There isn`t much to understand in most of them that I`ve met, ” said Bert. “ But of course you`re different, Al. ” And then the mailman had one of those rare gleams of intuition that sometimes comes even to the dullest. “ You`re so beautiful that you can`t help being dis- contented, ” he said, “ and so well edu- cated that you can`t help being unhap- py. ” ¶ Alice Hardy laughed bitterly. “ You have just about hit it, Bert, ” she said. ¶ “ I never could see what you want- ed to marry Tom Hardy for, all the same, ” continued Bert, in an aggriev- ed tone. “ A man like him who spends all his time trying to do everything in life by machinery hasn`t any right to get married to a girl with a head full of poetry and a heart full of —— ” ¶ “ What, Bert ? ” ¶ “ Blest if I know, Al. I don`t be- lieve you`ve ever been really in love with any man. You don`t seem to know what love is. But I`m going to teach you. ” ¶ He sat up beside her. His arm stole round her waist, and she let it remain there. He was quite right, she reflect- ed. She did not crave for love because it was love — but because it was excite- ment. Something to lift her out of the deadly rut of everyday existence. And then she wanted to be loved, too, be- cause she wanted to axult° in her own power, to realise that she wielded a compelling influence over this man, to feel that her beauty was a potent in- strument for the subjection of another human being in her will. Her charm was a weapon by which she would fight her way to new experiences — not a gift to be bestowed with the unthinking generosity of complete devotion. ¶ Yet Bert was a handsome young ani- mal — there was no denying it. And he had a taking way with women. In the steady stare of his bold, dark eyes Alice Hardy read danger. And she promptly gripped the situation. ¶ “ Now, no foolery, Bert. ” She quick- ly disengaged herself from the encircl- ing arm. “ You`ve got to take me home at once. Don`t make any mistake about that. ” ¶ The young man´s face became a dus- ky red. He was on the point of losing control over himself. But the woman, cool and collected, parried every move with quick dexterity. What a fool she had been, she said to herself bitterly, to encourage the brusque advances of this bush Lovelace, True, she had al- lowed herself to think of going away with him altogether, but that was a different matter. It was remote and problematical. It had presented itself to her mind as a mere contingency, a possible means of escape from the dead- ly monotony of Waratah Valley. She had hardly realised the half premedi- tated elopement as an actuality. And now here was the admirer who had been regarded by her in the light of a mere agent in her liberation, actually endeavouring to make instant and des- perate love to her. It was a ridiculous predicament, but not devoid of peril. ¶ “ Now, Bert, be a good boy, and, for Heaven´s sake, don`t annoy me, and don`t spoil the pleasure of this perfect night. Get up and put the basket into the box. I really must be getting back. ” ¶ “ Well, of all the —— ” ¶ “ That`ll do, Bert. I`m not going to argue with you. I daresay I was a fool to come with you, but — but —— ” ¶ “ But what, Al ? ” ¶ “ But you`ve I quite misunderstood me, Bert. I came because I wanted to enjoy a new experience — because I wanted to sail through the clouds and moonlight, and to leave the earth and all its follies far beneath me. I want- ed to see the world as I`ve never had a chance of seeing it before — all starlit and mysterious and far away. And — do try to understand me, Bert — I really didn`t want you, yourself, at all. ” ¶ “ Thank you for nothing, ” replied Bert furiously. “ Where did you get all that tommyrot from ? Stars and clouds and moonlight indeed ! Look here, you aren`t going to make a fool of me. D`ye hear that ? ” ¶ His face was dark with baffled pas- sion. He was an unlovely sight. ¶ “ How dare you talk, to me like that ? ” retorted the woman icily. “ Do you take me for a silly little fool, of a girl that you can do what you like with ? I`ll tell you what it is, Bert Mil- ligan, I`ve a good mind never to speak to you again as long as I live, and it wouldn`t cost me one regret either. ” ¶ Then Bert broke down and humbled himself at her feet. He wept, he pray- ed, and he implored forgiveness. He positively grovelled before the angry but still apprehensive beauty. Hadn`t she promised to go away with him for ever — to soar aloft from Waratah Val- ley in the Black Swan, and to make a home with him in some great city where life was life, and not mere bar- ren existence. She had, he vowed she had. Hadn`t she told him over and over again that she was eating her heart out among the interminable gums, and that she longed and yearned for the busy, crowded streets, for the glittering shops and the packed thea- tres, for music and song, and all the joyous glamour of aggregate humanity. ¶ Alice Hardy´s lip curled contemptu- ously. What if she had said all that ? Was it any reason why he should be- have like a lunatic in that remote soli- tude ? She walked off decisively to- ward the aeroplane, and took her place in the seat next the engine with- out another word. ¶ Bert´s brow was as black as thun- der. He took his seat beside her and touched the “ buzzar. ” The purring of the propellers broke the intense stillness of the night as Black Swan glided for- ward over the smooth sand for a score of yards, and then, soaring beautifully, sped away westward towards the dark mass of the distant ranges. ¶ For some minutes neither of them spoke. All Bert´s attention was con- centrated on his engine, and Alice was thinking so hard that the wondrous panorama of the night passed by her al- most unperceived. ¶ What did she really want ? Not this stolid, unintellectual, but miraculously clever human animal at her side, with his mechanical dexterity, his terrifying flashes of very earthly passion, and his utter lack of insight and comprehen- sion. She certainly did not want him except as a kind of ladder by which she might climb into some new region of vaguely desired experiences. What did she really feel ? Not love for Bert Milligan. Deep down in her heart she knew that she still loved Tom Hardy, with all his irritating absent minded- ness and his preoccupations with cranks, pistons, combustion engines, storage batteries, and smelly things outside the range of her comprehen- sion, and therefore of her interest. He was her man. He was the father of her child — the father of little Benny, whose frank eyes looked into her very soul, and whose small hands clung to her heart still as they had clung to her bosom only a year or two ago. Big Tom was the centre, and little Benny the periphery of her existence. She was sure of that. And, being sure of it, she asked herself in perplexity why she had begun to play with fire. Why had she encouraged Bert Milligan to stare at her with his big, dark eyes, to hold her cool, slim fingers in his hot, hard hands, and to take her riding with him through the summer night like a witch on a broomstick ? Why did she do it ? Why ? ¶ And then she told herself that it was because her brain and heart were not in unison. Her mind aspiring, eager for effort and activity, rebelled against the deadly, stupifying sameness of War- atah Valley, even while her heart clung instinctively to the husband who loved her and the child whose world was cen- tred in her face. Thought and feeling were in conflict. The mad longing to come into contact with the full stream of life and to meet men and women who could show her ever widening vis- tas in the great landscape of existence was an impulse generated in her brain. But her love for Tom and little Benny was interwoven into the very texture of her whole being. If anyone ever tried to take Tom from her —— ? ¶ As Black Swan sailed on through the night, high over the tallest timber on the rangy country that lay between the sea and the distant township, the pro- pellers drove her at times through light clouds that foamed like billows around her planes and at times through a tran- quil sea of starshine. Bert Milligan, gloomy and morose, fixed all his atten- tion on the steering wheel as he listen- ed intently to the rhythmical humming of the engine, and Alice Hardy, with close pressed lips, stared wide-eyed straight before her. Neither spoke. Yet in the heart and brain of each a tumult raged. Bert cursed himself inly for a fool. Why did he spend his days and nights in trying to conquer this lovely and inaccessible creature who could build an invisible wall around her with a word and a look, and who, when he tried to leap the barrier, soar- ed lightly aloft into regions where his heavy, materialism could not follow her ? In his calmer moments he could realise his folly, but then again the sight of her clear cut beauty beside him, and the involuntary touch of her arm upon his, drove him back into his unreasoning mad infatuation. ¶ Alice Hardy, who sat beside him in silence, was also shaken by a storm of emotions. She asked herself indignant- ly how she could ever have tolerated the rough advances of such a man as Bert Milligan, whose very touch in her more ethereal moments seemed con- tamination, and whose mind was as un- cultivated as the stony ranges that fled away beneath her feet. Yet there had been moments, as she was compelled to admit to her accusing consciousness, when his presence bad thrilled her, and when all his intellectual disabilities had vanished like casual unessential dust in the grip of a gale. What was the mystery of attraction that defied reason and common sense, and that steadily grew stronger the more she gave way to it ? She told herself bitterly that there were times when she was like a bird in the presence of a snake, held and fas- cinated by some baleful magic that de- fied all the strength of her deliberate judgment. And then again there arose in the mirror of her brain the reflection of the long, dull days at Waratah Val- ley — the, verandah of the hotel across the road — Bill Blake pottering about in his shirt sleeves, and Wilga, young, round bosomed and caper eyed, staging gaily with her exasperating and incom- prehensible contentment. Alice felt a cold shiver down her spine. She was older — several years older — than Wilga. The spring time of life was slipping past. Was she doomed to waste it all in Waratah Valley, while far away be- yond the imprisoning ranges was life with all its dazzling colour and in- finite variety ? ¶ And then, as she looked down from her seat, she saw that Black Swan was approaching well known landmarks. Surely that dimly-seen outline of grad- ual slope ending in a round, skull-like summit, bare of vegetation, was Mount Baldy. And the cleared patch on the lower level was mad Mick Maloney´s. ¶ Her eyes followed the sweep of the range as it rose from Mount Baldy´s thick bull neck to the long plateau of Big Hill, the highest point of the chain thereabouts. ¶ Big Hill — that was her husband´s land. She was nearing — home ! ¶ Black Swan sped on with her easy, tireless flight, but Bert Milligan cast anxious glances at the aneroid barome- ter fixed in an aluminium bracket next the elevating lever. They were 1900 feet high, and though he had often flown over Big Hill alone, he had never taken a passenger over it before. The plateau was ten miles long, and it aver- aged about 2000 feet above sea level. To go round by Fossicker´s Gap meant another thirty miles at least. He open- ed her out a bit more, and increased the number of revolution to counterbal- ance the decreased density of the air, which at that height gave much dimin- ished support to the air planes. ¶ Black Swan responded instantly to the increased impulse, and Bert gave the front plane another inch of eleva- tion. The machine seemed to quicken its stride like a steeplechaser approach- ing a big leap, and Bert Milligan felt instinctively that his confidence in her was not misplaced. ¶ Alice Hardy, peering down from her perch, saw the long plateau of Big Hill passing beneath, her. And then she saw the downward slope of the moun- tain beginning, and a small clearing just where the grass land pushed up to the edge of the big timber. Somebody had cut out a big hunk of the timber, as a slice might be cut from a Brob- dignagian cheese. ¶ In the middle of the cleared space a fire of heavy logs was burning. The. great log glowed redly like the hearth fire of a home, and, at a distance of a few yards, from the cheery blaze, was a splitter´s tent, so placed that the feet of the sleepers inside it were turned to- wards the fire. ¶ Alice Hardy pulled the woollen wrap more closely round her shoulders. It was piercingly cold at that height. But when she saw the splitter´s tent n glow of warmth diffused itself through her whole body, as though she stood by the camp fire below. ¶ Big Tom and little Benny were sleep- ing in the splitter´s tent. ¶ Alice Hardy knew it, and her lips and eyes bloomed into a happy smile. ¶ Bert Milligan knew it, too, and as he marked the expression on his compan- ion´s face his dark brow grew gloomier than before. ¶ What chance was there for him with this glorious woman who had bewitched him, if the sight of that tent and camp fire in the bush could bring such a light into her eyes ? What chance indeed ? ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER II. ¶ A TRIP THOUGH CLOUDLAND. ¶ Bill was just about to make a dignified reply when he caught sight of a lantern moving at a height of about three feet from the ground along the path leading from the post office through the small pad- dock at the side. ¶ The conversation on the verandah came to a close as though by com- mon consent, while the three men watched the progress of the lantern through the darkness. ¶ Presently the light stopped still. A curious muffled sound came from the region where it shone “ like a good deed in a naughty world. ” Then the light was extinguished. A soft purring, as of some monstrous feline was all that the eager listeners could hear, and they could see nothing. ¶ “ Bert`s got his new silencer on to- night, ” muttered Bill Blake. “ He was telling me about it yester- day. ” ¶ “ Wot for ? ” ejaculated Silas Weld- don gloomily. ¶ “ In a a general way of speakin`, ” said Bill Blake oracularly, “ when a young man dowses his candle and creeps along the passage in his bare feet I should expect to find a door unlocked somewheres — an` specially ef the young man is a mailman. ” ¶ A grunt from Silas was the only acknowledgment of Bill´s perspicac- ity. The other two men were to° much interested in listening to the engines of the “ airyoplane, ” muffled by the new silencer, to pay much at- tention to Bill´s reflections. ¶ “ Wot weight does she carry, Bill ? ” inquired Mr. Weldon with apparent irrelevance. ¶ “ Them Lithgow bi-planes are built to lift 350lb. dead weight, as well as the weight of the engines, ” replied the well-informed Mr. Blake. “ Bert goes about 150lb. himself, and he can take 200lb. of mails. ” ¶ There was a grunt from Mr. Weld- don. “ It ain`t mails he`s takin` to- night with the silencer on the en- gine. I`m thinkin`. ” ¶ But try as hard as they would, the watchers on the verandah could not pierce the darkness that lay be- tween them and the purring bi-plane scarcely a hundred yards away. They heard the purring sharpen softly, and pass into an ascending scale. Then the big black cloud that had been voyaging slowly across the sky passed away to the north, and, looking straight ahead into the eye of the east, the watchers saw the rugged crescent of the moon. Some- thing like a huge black bat flew rapidly between the watchers and the moon. It was outlined in almost brilliant blackness for a fraction of a second against the gleaming, sil- ver background. Then the purring grew fainter and fainter, and the shadow faded and was lost in the other shadows of the lonely, night- enfolded bush. ¶ Nobody spoke for at least a min- ute. Then Mr. Robins yawned osten- tatiously, and rose fram° the chair with much noisy shuffling of the feet. ¶ “ I`m just going across to the store, Mr. Blake, ” he semarked° with an air of almost painful unconcern. “ Mrs. Hardy might as well give me her order to-night as to-morrow. ” ¶ After ten minutes of ineffectual knocking Mr. Robins returned quite satisfied that one and one are not always merely one and one, but are occasionally two. And so these three — the publican, the old showman, and the glib young dealer in soap and candles — retired to their respective lonely cots with feelings of dreary dissatisfaction and vague envy of something, they hardly knew what. ¶ But high up in the pellucid mid- night sky a transfigured postmistress and a beatified mailman whispered together under the stars. Far below them was the earth with its perpe- tual limitations and unceasing res- strictions, its narrow outlook for each lowly crawler upon the surface, its definite and hatefully familiar round of petty tasks, its cramping code of conduct, and the maddening thraldom that it creates out of cir- cumstances for the unfortunate doomed to live upon it. At least that was how it struck Alice Hardy as she leaned over from her seat be- side Bert, and looked down upon the twinkling lights of Waratah Valley that were already mere dots of yel- low fire in the distance. As for Bert, he was a matter-of-fact per- son even though he was very much in love. His latest pleasure during the wonderful journey was derived from the fact that the new silencer was acting splendidly. ¶ “ Black Swan, ” the Lithgow bi- plane built at the Government Small Arms Factory and provided by the Post and Telegraph Department for the carriage of mails between Wara- tah Valley and the terminus of the Brennan monorail at Bottlebrush, was flying in perfect order. Bert was one of those natural mechanics who seemed to command the willing ob- edience of anything made out of brass, steel, copper, or aluminium. The aeroplane obeyed his lightest pressure, swooping or soaring like a living thing at the touch of the mailman´s hand upon the levers. All Bert´s mental capacity, however, flowed in the channel of mechanical practice, and, outside that sphere, his temperament was lively. There were times when he distinctly jar- red on Alice Hardy in spite of the influence that he exercised over her. ¶ The highly-strung woman, with her restless, unsatisfied nature, which was perpetually in conflict with the pretty limitations of home life in Waratah Valley, tasted undreamed of joys in this midnight night thro- ugh space. The mere sensation of sparing or swooping, as well as of rushing onward, intoxicated her with a sense of new freedom. How different this was from ? the leaden- footed wayfaring of humanity up and down the surface of the earth. She felt the weight of her corporeal self slipping from her. She almost guessed at the delights of disembodi- ment. ¶ “ Bert, ” she whispered, as the dark trees glided beneath them and the night wind fanned their faces, “ Bert, I am in Heaven. ” ¶ “ My word, ” replied Bert, encourag- ingly, “ I should think so. Mind you don`t get your hands all over that mucky oil. ” ¶ As “ Black Swan ” still flew on an easterly course with the big pro- pellers softly humming and the en- gine running with miraculous quiet- ness, the moon slowly climbed the sky in front of them, and the fea- tures of the landscape one by one emerged from darkness. It was a wonderful nocturne in blue and sil- ver, and Alice Hardy, who was as sensitive to beauty as a sunflower to the sunlight, thrilled with the pure joy of the unique experience. The red glare of a big bush fire to the south lit. up the great plateau that stretched away to the right. On her left rose the mighty barrier of the ranges that overlooked Waratah Valley. Station and homestead were dimly charted beneath her feet by many a feeble, flickering earth ,ight°, and above her head was the un- quenchable glory of the stars. The red glare of the bush fire and the yellow points of light on the scat- tered buildings stood out strangely in the moonlight and the starlight. And Alice Hardy, who had been a school teacher before she married Tom, and who still treasured the copy of Shelley´s poems presented to her by an impressionable inspectori° thrilled as she murmured to her- self — ¶ “ Life like a dome of many-coloured glass. ¨ Stains the white radiance of Etern- ity. ” ¶ “ What-oh, Al ! Isn`t she a bosker ? ” broke in Bert Milligan, suddenly find- ing his voice. “ I`ve had her on the top speed since we started. We should be somewhere near the sea now. Who do you say if we drop down and have a snack of supper ?” ¶ There was a glint in the mailman´s steady stare that was decidedly dis- concerting. ¶ “ Just as you like Bert, ” said the woman quietly. “ I feel that I can never can thank you enough for this wonderful voyage. It makes one feel as though all the bonds that tie one to the earth are tem- porarily broken, doesn`t it ? ” ¶ “ `Course it does, Al, ” responded her companion cheerfully, “ that is, if you say so. I ain`t much good on poetry an` that kind of thing my- self, but I do like to hear you talk like that. Why, it`s as good as going to the theatre. Smell the sea, eh ? ” ¶ Alice Hardy could see that they were nearing the coast. In another minute “ Black Swan ” skimmed over the last mighty ridge, and, looking down, the woman saw the moonlit Pacific sleeping tranquilly far be- low. It was the crowning sight of that unforgettable journey. ¶ “ My word, that`s a bosker beach. for surf-bathing, isn`t it ? Now you just sit tight and see me drop her. ” ¶ Bert cut off the ignition and stop- ped the engine. The soft hum of the propellers ceased, but the mach- ine had been travelling fast, and the momentun° was tremendous. ¶ “ Now we`ll do a bit of toboggan- ing, ” observed the mailman as he slightly depressed the front plane and “ Black Swan ” began to glide earthward with a long, easy sweep, like that of an albatross on steady wings. When within fifteen feet of the ground the mail man, with one light touch on the lever, altered the angle of descent, and, judging his distance carefully brought his mach- ine to the selected spot with con summate judgment. The aeroplane alighted on the hard sand like some great sea bird, and, after running a few yards on its bicycle wheels, came to a standstill. ¶ “ Good enough, too, ” exclaimed Bert, looking round at the lonely crescent of white sand bounded at either horn by beetling cliffs and rocks over which the long, slow rol- lers threw up clouds ? of silvery spray. They were on a South Coast beach to which the sea gulls were the only visitors, and forthwith the mailman .sitting down beside his companion insisted on spreading out the supper that he had brought with him, packed away in the respectable for His Majesty´s mails. As they ate they talked in low tones. The simple meal was soon finished as the moonlit surf made music at their feet. And the every day world of Waratah Valley was very far away. ¶ Alice Hardy stroked Bert´s crisp and curly hair with her pretty white fingers as he lay an the sand with his head on her lap. ¶ “ You`re a nice boy, Bert, ” she said, “ but you don`t understand me a bit. You understand me infinitely less than I understand that aero- plane of yours. For that matter does any man ever understand any woman — or does any woman ever un- derstand herself ? ” ¶ “ There isn`t much to understand in most of them that I`ve met, ” said Bert. “ But of course you`re different Al. ” And then the mailman had one of those rare gleams of intuition that sometimes come even to the dullest. “ You`re so beautiful that you can`t help being discontented, ” he said, “ and so well educated that you can`t help being unhappy. ” ¶ Alice Hardy laughed bitterly. “ You`ve just about hit it, Bert, ” she said. ¶ “ I never could see what you wanted to marry Tom Hardy for, all the same, ” continued Bert in an aggriev- ed tone. “ A man like him who spends all his time trying to do everything in life by machinery hasn`t any right to get married to a girl with a head full of poetry and a heart full of —— ” ¶ “ What, Bert ? ” ¶ “ Blest if I know, Al. I don`t be- lieve you`ve ever been really in love with any man. You don`t seem to know what love is. But I`m going to teach you. ” ¶ He sat up beside her. His arm stole round her waist and she let it remain there. He was quite right, she reflected. She did not crave for love because it was love — but because it was excitement. Some- thing to lift her out of the deadly rut of everyday existence. And then she wanted to be loved, too, be- cause she wanted to exult in her own power, to realise that she wiel- ded a compelling influence over this man, to feel that her beauty was a potent instrument for the subjection of another human being to her will. Her charm was a weapon by which she would fight her way to new ex- periences — not a gift to be bestowed with the unthinking generosity of complete devotion. ¶ Yet Bert was a handsome young animal — there was no denying it. And he had a taking way with women. In the steady stare of his bold, dark eyes Alice Hardy read danger. And she promptly gripped the situa- tion. ¶ ( To be continued. ) ¶ —————————— Hilda : “ Well, there`s one thing I can say. I never made a cloak of my religion. ” ¶ Bertha : “ No, dear, there`s not en- ough of it for that. Might be en- ough, perhaps, to make you a pocket- handkerchief. ”

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER III. — ( Continued. ) ¶ “ Serve ye right ef I left yer there, ” remarked Silas grimly ; and then he suddenly found the use of his tongue and proceeded to “ deal it out ” to the prostrate idiot who didn`t know better than to carry a rifle by the business end, and who must have loaded it before doing so. Mr. Weldon bent down as soon as he recovered his breath, and, grasping his blundering companion by the slack of his pants, jerked him to his feet. ¶ “ I really forgot that it was load- ed, ” grabbled° Mr. Robins, holding up both hands as though to ward off a well-merited blow. ¶ “ I know I orter pitch ye into the crick, ” replied Mr. Weldon thought- fully, “ cos it`s the only safe place for ye, but as I brought ye here, I s`pose I`ll have ter keep ye. Dunno but wot that shot will have scared the mob half way to the Snowy Riv- er by this time. But anyhow you got- ter get up inter that gum, and wait and watch. ” ¶ He threw a withering glance at the miserable object before him. ¶ “ An` here`s one last word of ad- vice, ” he added. “ Ef that black stallion does come along, climb a bit `igher, that`s all, an` mind you shoot straight. ” ¶ The old showman turned on his heel and strode off to the runabout — a grotesque figure with the tails of his long and filthy overcoat fly- ing, and the neck of a bottle pro- truding from each pocket. He got into the car, and, without once turn- ing his head, set off at a reckless pace along the bank of the creek, heading for the old stock road. ¶ “ What kind of Robinson Crusoe game is this ? ” muttered the disillu- sioned sportsman who was left be- hind. He glanced nervously at the thick bush across the creek, and then proceeded cautiously to ex- tract the blackberry thorns from his hands. He had a rough idea of the locality. To his right, on the other side of the creek, rose Mount Baldy, and, following with his eye the irregular outline of the range, he could make out next to it the lower slopes of Big Hill — where Tom Hardy´s “ birthright ” area was loca- ted. The timber was thinner on the lower slopes, and if Robins had had any eye for country — which he hadn`t — he would have seen that it had the makings of splendid farming land. Rich, black soil, heavily grass- ed, stretched away as far as the eye could reach on the right, and, in the open patches, tall, slender, grace- ful cabbage palms lifted up their feathery tops, and scarlet flame trees struck vivid notes of colour amid the duller greys and greens. Tom Hardy knew what he was do- ing when he picked out Big Hill. It was a bit of real South Coast gard- en in the rough. ¶ “ Good mind to walk back to Wara- tah Valley, ” said Robins to himself, as he gazed without enthusiasm at the scene. He had always frankly hated the bush. But the thought of Silas Weldon steadied him. The old man was savage enough to do him a personal injury if he left his allot- ted post. ¶ Reluctantly and slowly Mr. Rob- ins took up the detestable rifle, and felt his pockets for the cartridges. He was hungry, he was sore, and he was very much scared. Old Wel- don had gone off with the tucker basket, and the horrible silence of the bush was depressing. ¶ Looking nervously around him Ro- bins walked slowly to the log bridge. In the middle he slipped, but recovered himself with an ef- fort. Pushing his way through the blackberry scrub that had been thinned out by some practised hand where the crossing had to be nego- tiated, Robins quickly reached the gum tree and clambered into the first fork, which was barely five feet above the level of the ground. Feeling far from secure in his niche he scrambled up another ten feet and perched astride of the bough that stood out strait from the main trunk making as nearly as possible a right angle with it. It was not a thick bough. In fact, the outer end dropped ominously when the sportsman shifted himself out on it few inches from the main trunk, so he speedily got back to safety. ¶ Hardly had he settled himself in the angle made by the main trunk and the lateral bough when the neigh of a horse broke the portent- ous silence. It came from the Big Hill country, and was answered al- most at once by another neigh from the direction of Mount Baldy. There was a ringing militancy in these horse-cries that boded trouble. ¶ The rising sun had already touched the smooth skull of Mount Baldy with gold, and was slowly spreading down from the long plateau of Big Hill when Robins in his arboreal re- fuge distinctly heard the canter of unshod hoofs upon springy turf to his right, and the rattle and crash of another big mob away to the left, where the timber was so thick that none but horses bred in the country could keep going at all. ¶ Nearer and nearer drew the sounds. Mr. Robins grew so excited that he burst out into a cold perspiration. It certainly seemed — if one could judge from the noises — that both mobs were moving in his direction, and moving fast. Where on earth was Silas Weldon ? Why did he de- lay at this critical moment when his mature counsel would be in- valuable ? The question remained un- answered, and Mr. Silas Weldon´s silence continued to be inexplicable to his disconcerted partner in the enterprise. ¶ Meantime it became clear to the watcher in the tree that two squad- rons of horse were converging upon the creek. The squadron on his left had apparently been directed at first so as to strike the creek at the stock road crossing as predicted by Silas, but the challenging neigh of the leader of the first squadron could not be left unanswered, and the lead- er of the second squadron had al- tered his course so as to hit the same drinking place as his rival. ¶ Peering out through the gum lea- ves while he clutched the Winchest- er in trembling fingers, the anxious onlooker witnessed a magnificent and altogether unprecedented spec- tacle. Hitherto the Australian brumbies were for the most part a miserable lot of weeds, with the cat- hams and the narrow chest of un- mistakable degeneracy. They were the offspring of horses not worth re- taining in domestication, and they speedily reverted to the very poor- est equine type when they bred in the wild state. ¶ But how different were the horses that Robins, in a perfect agony of apprehension, saw sweeping down up- on him as they burst out through the far line of thin timber, halfway up the range, and galloped across a broad belt of richly-grassed pasture. Large-boned, powerful animals they certainly were, as he could see al- ready. Fifty yards in front of the main body cantered a great black stallion, and thundering behind him came fully two hundred horses and mares in an irregular line that ex- tended with a front of nearly half a mile in length. Many of the mar- es had yearlings running beside them, and, in the golden light of the breaking day, bays and browns, roans and chestnuts, blacks and creams and greys shone out a though they were burnished. They were only cantering slowly, and gave the impression of being per- fectly under control of the leader, but, as Robins watched them, he shuddered nervously. If they really got going in a mad gallop was there any obstacle that could stop their charge ? ¶ As the unspoken question flitted through his mind he turned his head and saw the second squadron emerging for a few moments from the thick belt of scrub away to the left. It was led by a huge grey stallion surprisingly active for his size, and it consisted of not less than a hundred and fifty horses. They disappeared once more into a second belt of scrub, and Robins could plainly hear the rending and crashing of the smaller saplings as the horses dashed through them, avoiding the solid timber with the practised ease of the true range-bred brumby. Small-hoofed and iron-leg- ged, these horses were quite unlike their broad-hoofed and relatively clumsy domesticated progenitors of the plain country. They could keep going in the thickest bush as well as on the most precipitous range, and once their blood was up nothing could stop them. ¶ As the little soap-peddler stared open-eyed at the impressive spectacle before him the converging lines drew closer together until the ex- treme right wing of the first squad- ron came into touch with the ex- treme left wing of the second. The two squadrons now united, made a line half a mile long ; the huge grey stallion still cantering in front of his followers, while the black led on the others. The country that ex- tended back from the creek was per- fectly open for about a mile in the direction of the ranges, and in this open zone which formed an im- mense natural arena one mighty mob of horses was galloping — with two leaders ! ¶ With two leaders ! Clearly the sit- uation was impossible. ¶ A neigh that was more like a bel- low of defiance came from the black stallion. ¶ Squealing with rage the grey took up the challenge, and, starting by mutual consent, the two champions charged at each other under the eyes of their respective followers. They came together within fifty yards of the tree in which Robins was perched, and a Titanic com- bat began almost underneath him. ¶ As the black flung himself into the fight the hackles on his neck stood up like the bristles on a bull terrier. His ears were flattened back against his head, and his long tail was tucked tightly in between his power- ful haunches. Watching his opportun- ity he rushed in prepared to finish off his enemy in the first round, and, turning like lightening, let fly with his hind feet at the place where the grey´s middle section should have been. But the grey dodged the at- tack with the skill of a veteran pug- ilist, and landed a couple of terri- fic kicks before his opponent knew what was happening. The black´s near side flank was cut and bleeding. If the grey had been shod the black´s propelling machinery, would have been well nigh put out of action. As it was, however, the sharp rat- tat on his quarters merely served to irritate him. He dashed in again, wheeled, and let drive with both hoofs together, but the grey showed extraordinary cleverness in avoiding punishment, changing from broad- side on to end on like a flash. ¶ The grey had lost his off-side eye in a previous battle, and it was necessary for him therefore to keep the enemy always on his near side. With this object he shifted his ground with amazing rapidity at each fresh onset. Suddenly the black reared up and lashed out vigorously with his fore feet at his enemy´s head. The grey seized the near fore leg in his mouth, but before he could bring his teeth together the black got in a blow with the off fore foot which made the enemy´s jaw rattle, and the imprisoned member was released. ¶ Round and round they circled, emi- ting blood-curdling squeals and kicking and biting with such in- credible quickness that the eye could scarcely follow their move- ments. The grey was far the clever- er but he was also far the older. Veteran of a hundred fights, there was scarcely any part of his body that did not bear honourable scars. Both his ears had been badly chew- ed, and in addition to the loss of an eye, he had one side of his jaw knocked out of shape. But he was a stubborn fighter, and he more than held his own against the black in the hoof play. ¶ A furious rough-and-tumble brou- ght both horses to the ground. They were up again like a flash, but, in the juggle, the grey lost his posi- tion, and in an instant the black was at him from the off-side — which was also the blind side. The black got his teeth firmy° locked into the old grey´s muscular neck. He held on like a bull-dog ; he bore down with all his weight on his victim. In vain the grey snapped furiously. He could reach nothing. He was forced backwards and over. As he fell the black was on top of him, and a report like the crack of a re- volver told the grey had broken a leg. He made an attempt to rise, but fell back helpless. He had fou- ght his last fight, and once more was proved that rigorous rule to which there are no exceptions — the rule which lays it down that “ youth will be served. ” ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ THE BLACK STALLION. ¶ CHAPTER III. — ( Continued ). ¶ It was just at this critical mo- ment, when the victorious black, covered with blood and mud and foam, was standing over the pro- strate form of his doughty foe, that Mr. Robins managed to put the crown on all his previous achie- vements, by an exploit which had a far-reaching result upon the des- tiny of several of the leading in- habitants of Waratah Valley. It was perhaps fortunate for him that, in the excitement of watching the terrifying equine battle, he had drop- ped his rifle — otherwise he would certainly have succeeded in shooting himself. But there still remained one infinitesimal chance of spoiling all Silas Weldon´s carefully-laid plans, and it is hardly necessary to say that Mr. Robins took it. ¶ In the ebb and flow of the tide of combat the two stallions had cover ed a great deal of ground, and the last furious onset took place ex- actly underneath the big gum tree which sheltered upon one of its up- per branches, that unblushing im- postor and most disappointing of sportsmen, Mr. Alfred Robins. In his eagerness to see all that there was to see he had worked himself several feet out on the lateral branch of the gaunt gum tree. In endeavou- ring to go one foot further towards the end, the end arrived. There was a sharp crack, and then a large piece of green timber with a frenzied little man crawling all over it, des- cended upon the back of the black stallion. ¶ What the black stallion thought about the visitor who dropped in so unceremoniously upon such an im- portant occasion can only be dimly conjectured from his actions. When Mr. Robins had taken his seat upon the animal´s back the black stallion, who could fight an earthly enemy, but drew the line at the occult, gave one buck and no more. That buck deposited Mr. Robins for the second time that day on his head in a dense patch of blackberry bush, and he had at least twelve hours´ work before him in picking those irritating little blackberry thorns out of his cranium. But the black stallion did not wait to see the operation. Panic looked out from the eyes in which only a few minu- tes earlier nothing gleamed but the honest lust of battle. With a suc- cession of bounds he put himself at the head of the double squadron, and the strange brumbies unquestion- ingly accepted him as their leader with that pathetic readiness — so characteristic of a democracy — to abandon an old and trusted guide, and to select some untried experi- mentalist for the position. ¶ The black stallion had been excited during the progress of the fight, but now he was distraught. No two-leg- ged thing had ever sat on his back before, even for a second. He was mad with fear. An overmastering impulse to flee took possession of him. In spite of the severe treat- ment that he had received he was practically uninjured, and though he bleeding freely from flesh wounds, was bleeding freely from flesh wounds, to him in such good stead that he was still able to gallop as well as ever. In far less time than it takes to write the words the black stallion with ears flattened against his head and the whites of his panic-sticken° eyes gleaming, was in full retreat from the spot where that strange two-legged thing had bestridden him for one brief instant. Any where, any where, away from that terrify- ing spot ! ¶ So it came about that the dou- ble squadron of nearly four hundred wild horses, led by a semi-insane black stallion, swept away like a hurricane from Boggy Creek seeking distant haunts in the illimitable re- cesses of the heavily-timbered coun- try that runs back from the coast towards the great mountain range that is the backbone of Australia. But, just before he reached the tim- ber belt, the leader swerved. His great fight had shaken him. He drew back from the heavy timber where hard blows, as he knew well, await- ed the most active galloper, and he bore away to the right over the op- en grass country that formed the lower slopes of Big Hill. ¶ The whole mob followed their lea- der without a single defection, im- bibing panic from his example, and communicating their nameless ter- rors to each other by that inexpli- cable law which makes the sum of the passions of a crowd such a mon- strous and wholly incalculable in- fluence. In point of fact, the two squadrons of wild horses were for the time being virtually insane, and the black stallion who led them was so entirely possessed by his fears as to be quite out of his mind. With slavering jaws and eyes suff- used with blood, he led the thunder- ing ranks of his followers at an ever-increasing pace round the slop- ing flanks of Big Hill, and straight on in a course that must bring the equine tornado directly over the new ‘ birthright ’ area — and the split- ter´s tent in which big Tom and little Benny were sleeping when Ali- ce Hardy and Bert Milligan passed over the spot in the Lithgow bi- plane about six hours earlier. ¶ Robins watched the stampede with very mixed feelings. In spite of all old Weldon´s warnings he had miss- ed an easy opportunity of bagging the terrible black stallion. He had irretrievably bungled the entire en- terprise, and, worse, than all had precipitated the flight of the horses into remote hiding places where it was hopeless to think of following them. As he sat on a log with his chin on his hands gloomily meditat- ing upon his ill luck he heard a mel- ancholy neigh behind him. It was the old grey stallion limping slow- ly along on three legs and swinging the useless fourth. ¶ The soap-hawker thereupon perfor- med the only useful act that he succeeded in accomplishing through- out the whole expedition. He placed a cartridge in the Winchester, put the end of the barrel to the old greys° tallion´s° forehead, and pulled the trigger. ¶ But where on earth was Silas Wel- don ? And why had he not put in an appearance at the scene of action ? Surely he must have seen the arri- val of the two squadrons and he must have heard the tumult of the great battle and the thunder of the final stampede. Robins decided to organise himself into a search party. He gingerly picked up his Winches- ter, turned his back on the old grey stallion lying dead under the gum tree, and plodded along the bank of the creek, following its course down to the stock-road crossing. After walking acouple° of miles he caught sight of the runabout standing in a bush track, and near it the object of his search. ¶ Old Silas Weldon was lying face downwards, in the grass. The mys- tery of his non-appearance at the scene of the encounter was solved. His face was purple, and, as the soap-dealer turned him over, an ex- planatory snore proceeded from his lips. The bottle of milk beside him was completely empty. So also was the bottle of rum. ¶ CHAPTER IV. ¶ THE GREAT STAMPEDE. ¶ “ Now then, Benny, it`s time to get up. ¶ The small four-year-old urchin cla- sped his arms more tightly round his father´s neck and smile° roguish- ly without opening his eyes. This was a regular game of his. Noth- ing would induce him to wake un- til his father kissed him on both eyes. Then they would open, and Benny was ready to begin the busi- ness of the day. He had dozens of such tricks, and his father knew them all by heart. ¶ The splitter´s tent was a very primitive sleeping-place. A sapling, resting lengthwise in the forks of two uprights, supported the canvas which was securely pegged down at the sides and back. A waterpool° sheet was stretched on the ground, and over it were several thick blue blankets. Benny and his father slept very snugly in those blankets with their feet towards the open front of the tent and the big log fire that was still smouldering a few yards away. ¶ Tom rolled out of the blankets, crept on all fours from the tent, and proceeded to sluice his head and arms in the little fern-encumber- ed creek that tinkled merrily be- side the camp. ¶ “ Me too, Daddy, ” gurgled Benny, gleefully. He scrambled out of his small flannel sleeping-garment, and danced towards the creek — the verit- able re-incarnation of one of those sylvan fauns that sported beside the stream Alpheus, goodness, knows how many centuries ago. Tom bath- ed him in the creek, and the small, cleared space in the heart of the mountain solitude rang with the merry laughter of the urchin. ¶ Breakfast was a cheery meal. A very small corner of the smoulder- ing log fire served to boil the billy, and the plain, wholesome tucker was simply delicious. ¶ “ If only mother was here, ” said Benny, with his mouth full of bis- cuit, “ wouldn`t it be lovely ? ” ¶ “ My word it would, ” assented Tom, and his thoughts flew back to the beautiful woman who some times seemed so far away from him, but whom he loved with all the strength of his nature. Of course it roust be terribly dull for her in the store. He fully realised that. But when he had made a bit of money he would take her to Sydney and show her the great world. ¶ Poor old Tom ! Wrapped up as he was in his land and in the various labour-saving appliances by which he sought to accelerate the process of extracting wealth from it, his men- tal outlook was so narrowly cir- cumscribed that it scarcely touched the relatively wide segment of ex- istence that Alice Hardy took in with her broad sweep of vision. To his eyes Sydney represented the cul- mination of civilised refinement, the supreme perfection beyond which it was impossible to go. To Alice it represented merely the point of departure to an unknown external world teeming with glorious possi- bilities. “ The real distances of life, ” as a great dramatist makes one of his characters remark, “ are in ourselves. The distance that sep- arates husband and wife, for in- stance. ” ¶ After breakfast, which was soon over, Tom Hardy proceeded to plan out his day´s work, which was to last from dawn to sunset. He was a good deal worried about this new section of his at the top of Big Mill. It was a hundred acre block of excellent although heavily-timbered land, and it had lately been allot- ted to him by the Government when little Benny attained his fourth birthday. ¶ The Population Encouragement Act had been hotly debated when the bill was first introduced in the State Parliament, and strong opposition was shown in the Legislative Coun- cil towards its leading provision, which set forth that every bona- fide agriculturist who became the father of a child born in wedlock in any of the rural electorates of New South Wales should, on the said child attaining the age of four years, he granted a leasehold — convertible under certain conditions into a free- hold title — of a section of one hund- red acres of Crown land, to be sel- ected by the applicant from the available land in his electoral divi- ston. A good deal had been said ab- out “ pauperising the people ” by the kind of men who invariably raise that cry when long-standing abuses are being remedied by progressive legislation, but the bill became law in spite of the opposition. ¶ Some of Hardy´s neighbours held as much as six hundred acres apiece, whiten had been granted to them un- der the previsions of the Act, and the State Statistician´s annual re- ports showed a most encouraging improvement in the natural increase of the native-born population. This particular piece of land, watered by the fern-encumbered creek in which Benny had just bathed, was there- fore that small, Australian´s verit- able birthright. How to make the most of it was just now big Tom´s sole preoccupation. ¶ It was with that object in view that Tom after lighting his pipe, sauntered over to the rough, square- ly-built, motor-driven lorry that he used for carrying its working plant in the bush, and lifted out first a big American buzz-saw, and then a couple of handy little electrically driven motors of the latest design. These represented the last word in scientific tree-felling. The new per- manent storage batteries in which cobalt was largely used, supplied power reliably and very inexpensive- ly, and the buzz-saw did the rest. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER III. — THE BLACK STALLION. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ Boggy Creek turned out to be a for- midable young river with steep banks rising about twenty feet above the level of the water on both sides, except at the particular spot to which Silas had piloted the runabout. Here there was a practicable watering place, for the bank on the far side shelved gently down to the creek, and Robins remarked, with trepidation that the mud bore unmis- takable signs of having been trampled by a large number of animals. About a hundred yards higher up a couple of big logs had been thrown across the creek and formed a rough bridge. A thick growth of blackberry scrub and Bathurst burr clothed both banks, mak- ing the creek a formidable obstacle for any animal, wild or domesticated, to get across, and difficult of access even for drinking, except in the one particu- lar spot. Apart from the blackberry scrub the ground near the creek was fairly open, but a few acacias and gums of moderate size grew within a score of yards of the creek, and one big fellow forking within a few feet of the ground was quite climbable. ¶ “ Ye see how it is, ” said Silas, whose volubility was increasing under con- tinued applications of rum and milk. “ Them blamed horses carn`t get acrost to his side of the crick at all. They gotter keep over on that side, an` you may guess wot sorter charnce we`d `ave of gettin` near `em in that God-forsaken bush. There`s yer tree. ” ¶ “ Have I gug-gug-gotter geg-geg-get up there this minnit ? ” enquired Robins ap- prehensively. ¶ “ Cuck-cuck-course you `ave, ” mimick- ed the old man derisively. “ Y` ain`t scared, are ye ? ” ¶ Robins stoutly denied the accusation — in a voice that entirely failed to carry conviction. ¶ “ An` if ye`ll take my advice, ” added Silas, “ ye`ll leave off holdin` that Win- chester by the end of the bar —— Gee whizz ! ” ¶ There was a sharp report as a bullet hummed past Weldon´s ear and sped away into the immensities across the creek. The old man´s vocabulary failed him at the moment of direst need. He could only stare dumbly at Mr. Robins, who had tripped over a tussock and pitched head first into a blackberry bush, where he lay yelling for help. ¶ “ Serve ye right ef I left ye there, ” remarked Silas grimly ; and then he sud- denly found the use of his tongue, and proceeded to “ deal it out ” to the pros- trate idiot who didn`t know better than to carry a rifle by the business end, and who must have loaded it before doing so. Mr. Weldon bent down as soon as he recovered his breath, and, grasping his blunering° companion by the slack of his pants jerked him to his feet. ¶ “ I really forgot that it , was loaded, ” gabbled Mr. Robins, holding up both hands as though to ward off a well merit- ed blow. ¶ “ I know I orter pitch ye into the creek, ” replied Mr. Weldon thought- fully, “ `cos it`s the only safe place fer ye, but as I brought ye here, I s`pose I`ll have ter keep ye. Dunno but wot that shot will have scared the mob half way to the Snowy River by this time. But anyhow you gotter get up inter that gum, and wait, and watch. ” ¶ He threw a withering glance at the miserable object before him. ¶ “ An` here`s one last word of advice, ” he added. “ Ef that black stallion does come along, climb a bit `igher, that`s all, an` mind you shoot straight. ” ¶ The old showman turned on his heel and strode off to the runabout — a grotesque figure with the tails of his long and filthy overcoat flying, and the neck of a bottle protruding from each pocket. He got into the car, and, with- out once turning his head, set off at a reckless pace along the bank of the creek, heading for the old stock road. ¶ “ What kind of Robinson Crusoe game is this ? ” muttered the disillusioned sportsman who was left behind. He glanced nervously at the thick bush across the creek, and then proceeded cautiously to extract the blackberry thorns from his hands. He had a rough idea of the locality. To his right, on the other side of the creek, rose Mount Baldy, and, following with his eye the irregular outline of the ranges he could make out next to it the lower slopes of Big Hill — where Tom Hardy´s “ birthright ” area was located. The timber was thinner on the lower slopes, and if Robins had had any eye for country — which he hadn`t — he would have seen that it had the makings of splendid farming land. Rich, black soil, heavily grassed, stretch- ed away as far as the eye could reach on the right, and, in the open patches, tall, slender, graceful cabbage palms lifted up their feathery tops, and scarlet flame trees struck vivid notes of color amid the duller greys and greens. Tom Hardy knew what he was doing when he picked out Big Hill. It was a bit of real South Coast garden in the rough. ¶ “ Good mind to walk back to Waratah Valley, ” said Robins to himself, as he gazed without enthusiasm at the scene. He had always frankly hated the bush. But the thought of Silas Weldon stead- ied him. The old man was savage enough to do him a personal injury if he left his allotted post. ¶ Reluctantly and slowly Mr. Robins took up the detestable rifle, and felt in his pockets for the cartridges. He was hungry, he was sore, and he was very much scared. Old Weldon had gone off with the tucker basket, and the horrible silence of the bush was depressing. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER III. — THE BLACK STALLION. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ The runabout, like Whyte Melville´s famous old hunter, was a “ rum `un to look at, ” but “ a good un to go, ” and Silas sent it along for all he was worth. They went over the broken ground at such a break-neck pace that Robins felt the teeth shaking in his jaws. They whizzed through a gap in the fence at the end of the paddock, bumped down a low bank, jolted across the culvert, and rattled away over a dubious bush track in the direction of Boggy Creek, fifteen miles distant. ¶ “ The blamed old tin-kettle can move along fast enough when she likes, ” re- marked Silas pleasantly, as the engines throbbed and thumped under their feet. “ She orter be doin` about twenty an hour now. ” ¶ Robins was being bounced up and down like a tennis ball while he held on to the back of the seat with one hand, and to the outer rail with the other. Every time the runabout hit a log she bucked like an outlaw, and the unhappy traveller was afraid to open his mouth lest he might bite his tongue in half. He was an excellent listener while they were in the rough ground. ¶ “ Now, ” said the old man in grim tones, “ when we comes ter Boggy Creek, you just remember wot I tells yer, and mind you do it. This horse-huntin` ain`t as easy as peddlin` soap, an` don`t you think it. Our only charnce is to ketch `em at the water, fer if they gets away inter the big bush where we can`t foller `em in this `ere sausage-machine, we`re done fer the day, sonny, mind that. ” ¶ “ Wo-ho-hot are you go-ho-hoing ter dud-dud-do when we gug-gug-get there ? ” inquired Mr. Robins between the bumps. ¶ “ Ye see, it`s this way, ” explained the tell which of `em it will be. One place is where the banks are low, near the log bridge clost against mad Mick Ma- hony´s, and the other is about two mile down stream where the creek opens out by the old stock road. The old grey mostly brings the mob along to the stock-road ford, but if the black stallion `appens to be in charge `e might lead `em to the crossin`, near the log bridge. I`m goin` to leave you at the log bridge — mind, I don`t say they`ll come there, an` I don`t even think they will, but it`s best to give `em no charnces — an` I`m goin` down in the runabout to wait at the stock road. Wot you`ve gotter do is to set quiet in the fork of the big gum on the other side of the crick with yer Winchester in yer `and, an` a pocketful of cartridges. The black stallion`s mighty tricky. Ef he winds yer at all `e won`t come within a mile of ye, but ef `e`s thinkin` of somethin` else as like as not he`ll bring the `ole bloomin` `arem along, an` you orter get a good charnce at `em. Ef ye can`t get a shot at the forehead aim just be`ind the shoulder, an` you`ll be right. But be careful of the black. `E`s a man-eater orl right, an` if ye miss him don`t you come outer that tree wotever you do, or you`ll only be fit fer the boiling-down works yerself. ” ¶ Mr. Robins experienced a sudden chill in the region of the spine, and also the sensation of well-marked nausea. Was it for this that he had got up at two in the morning and bore the objurgations of this terrible old man without telling him what he thought of him ? ¶ “ The black is the leader of a mob that gen`ally tallies about a `undred, ” con- tinued the old man, wagging his head re- flectively, “ but there`ll be plenty more not far off. `E`s fought `is way right up to the head of the mob, an` ye can take it from me `e`s an orl right fighter. `E was born in the bush, an` so was `is sire an` dam before `im, an` a trickier, wick- eder, madder brute ye`ve never seen in yer natcheral. You jest keep yer block, sonny, an` put a bullet plumb through his forehead ef ye can. But don`t ye go fer to miss `im, becos it`s my belief `e`d climb the tree after ye. ” ¶ By this time Mr. Robins was rapidly getting into a condition in which he would have found it difficult to hit a cathedral at thirty paces. He only just managed to stutter out his thanks for the honor that Mr. Weldon purposed to confer upon him when Silas resumed his task of lightly outlining the forthcom- ing campaign. ¶ “ Ye see, ” said the old man, “ I gotter watch the stock road becos that`s where they gen`ally come when the old grey is in charge. A nice ole cup er tea he is too. `Im an` the black ain`t settled it yet which is ter be the boss. Anyhow, thats how I figger it out. They mostly `as a scrap whenever they meet. The old grey has got only one eye left, but `e stands about `arf a `and `igher than the black ; `is teeth are like a buzz-saw, and `e kicks like a quick-firer. In a scrap to a finish I ain`t sure which of `em I`d back, but, anyhow, I owe `im one for chasin` me about three miles in the run- about, with his mouth open, one evening larst week, when I`d dropped my gun. I ain`t lookin` fer a matinee performance of the same piece, and ye can bet good money on that. `Ullo, we`re clost up to it now. There`s a bit `er pink light in the east, and there`s gool old Boggy Creek too. ” ¶ It was a long speech for the ex-ring- master, but Robins remembered every word of it. He began to conjecture ner- vously that the old man would see him done to death. And when he was dead Silas no doubt would claim five bob for his scalp, and would send his remains to be boiled down for tallow. Pinching him- self to make sure that he was still alive and also awake, the little soap dealer sought to nerve himself to make the great confession. ¶ He had never fired a gun of any sort in his whole life. ¶ What would Silas say when he heard that miserable admission ? Nay more. What would he probably do ? Little Robins saw himself in fancy already ejected from the runabout and left to face the onrush of the savage, wild horses, while Silas disappeared in a cloud of petrol-reek and soul-scaring im- precations. ¶ Perhaps it would be better not to tell him until after the day´s sport was over. And then the magnitude of his bag would doubtless atone for his apparent lack of frankness when he made the ap- plication to accompany the horse- hunter. Moral courage was not the strong point of Mr. Robins. His natu- ral gift of fluency was no use to him here. In fact, he felt that his only safety lay in silence. ¶ The runabout caracoled joyously over the last bumpy mile that formed the approach to Boggy Creek. Mr. Robins was sick and sore and extremely fright- ened. His nervousness did not decrease when Silas brought the runabout to a standstill at the edge of the creek and curtly ordered his mate to get out. ¶ As Robins stiffly descended from the car, grasping one of the Winchesters awkwardly by the barrel, the sun was just rising. The hard biscuit that Silas produced from the tucker basket and handed to him almost choked him, but a tot of rum and milk in a tin pannikin stopped his teeth from chattering, and he was able to take stock of his surroundings. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER III. — THE BLACK STALLION. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ Looking nervously around him Robins walked slowly to the log bridge. In the middle he slipped, but recovered himself with an effort. Pushing his way through the blackberry scrub that had been thinned out by some practised hand where the crossing had to be negotiated, Robins quickly reached the gum tree and clambered into the first fork, which was barely five feet above the level of the ground. Feeling far from secure in his niche he scrambled up another ten feet and perched astride of the bough that stood out straight from the main trunk making as nearly as possible a right angle with it. It was not a thick bough. In fact, the outer end drooped ominously when the sportsman shifted himself out on it a few inches from the main trunk, so he speedily got back to safety. ¶ Hardly had he settled himself in the angle made by the main trunk and the lateral bough when the neigh of a horse broke the portentous silence. It came from the Big Hill country, and was an- swered almost at once by another neigh from the direction of Mount Baldy. There was a ringing militancy in these horse-cries that boded trouble. ¶ The rising sun had already touched the smooth skull of Mount Baldy with gold, and was slowly spreading down from the long plateau of Big Hill when Robins in his arboreal refuge distinctly heard the canter of unshod hoofs upon springy turf to his right, and the rattle and crash of another big mob away to the left, where the timber was so thick that none but horses bred in the coun- try could keep going at all. ¶ Nearer and nearer drew the sounds. Mr. Robins grew so excited that he burst out into a cold perspiration. It certainly seemed — if one could judge from the noises — that both mobs were moving in his direction, and moving fast. Where on earth was Silas Wel- don ? Why did he delay at this criti- cal moment when his mature counsel would be invaluable ? The question re- mained unanswered, and Mr. Silas Wel- don´s silence continued to be inexplicable to his disconcerted partner in the enter- prise. ¶ Meantime it became clear to the watcher in the tree that two squadrons of horse were converging upon the creek. The squadron on his left had ap- parently been directed at first so as to strike the creek at the stock road cross- ing as predicted by Silas, but the chal- lenging neigh of the leader of the first epuadron° could not be left unanswered, and the leader of the second squadron had altered his course so as to hit the same drinking place as his rival. ¶ Peering out through the gum leaves while he clutched the Winchester in trembling fingers, the anxious onlooker witnessed a magnificent and altogether unprecedented spectacle. Hitherto the Australian brumbies were for the most part a miserable lot of weeds, with the cat-hams and the narrow chests of un- mistakable degeneracy. They were the offspring of horses not worth retaining in domestication, and they speedily re- verted to the very poorest equine type when they bred in the wild state. ¶ But how different were the horses that Robins, in a perfect agony of appre- hension, saw sweeping down-upon him as they burst out through the far line of thin timber half way up the range, and galloped across a broad belt of richly grassed pasture. Large-boned, powerful animals they certainly were, as he could see already. Fifty yards in front of the main body cantered a great black stal- lion, and thundering behind him came fully two hundred horses and mares in an irregular line that extended with a front of nearly half a mile in length. Many of the mares had yearlings run- ning beside them, and, in the golden light of the breaking day, bays and browns, roans and chestnuts, blacks and creams and greys shot out as though they were burnished. They were only cantering slowly, and gave the impres- sion of being perfectly under the con- trol of the leader, but, as Robins watched them, he shuddered nervously. If they really got going in a mad gallop was there any obstacle that could stop their charge ? ¶ As the — unspoken question flitted through his mind he turned his head and sail- the second-squadron emerging for a few-moments from the thick belt of scrub away to the loft. It was led by a huge grey stallion surprisingly active for his size, and it consisted of not less than a hundred and fifty horses. They disappeared once more into a second belt of scrub, and Robins could plainly hear the rending and crashing of the smaller saplings as the horses dashed through them, avoiding the solid timber with the practised ease of the true range- bred brumby. Small-hoofed and iron- legged, these horses were quite unlike their broad-hoofed and relatively clumsy domesticated progenitors of the plain country. They, could keep going in the thickest bush as well as on the most precipitous range, and once their blood was up nothing could stop them. ¶ As the little soap-peddler stared open- eyed at the impressive spectacle before him the converging lines drew closer to- gether until the extreme right wing of the first squadron came into touch with the extreme left wing of the second. The two squadrons, now united, made a line half a mile long ; the huge grey stallion still cantering in front of his own followers, while the black led on the others. The country that extended back from the creek was perfectly open for about a mile in the direction of the ranges, and in this open zone which formed an immense natural arena one mighty mob of horses was galloping — with two leaders ! ¶ With two leaders ! Clearly the situa- tion was impossible. ¶ A neigh that was more like a bellow of defiance came from the black stal- lion. ¶ Squealing with rage the grey took up the challenge, and, starting by mutual sonsent°, the two champions charged at each other under the eyes of their re- spective followers. They came together within fifty yards of the tree in which Robins was perched, and a Titanic com- bat began almost underneath him. ¶ As the black flung himself into the fight the hackles on his neck stood up like the bristles on a bull terrier. His ears were flattened back against his head, and his long tail was tucked tightly in between his powerful haunches. Watching his opportunity he rushed in, prepared to finish off his enemy in the first round, and, turning like lightning, let fly with his hind feet at the place where the grey´se° middle section should have been. But the grey dodged the attack with the skill of a veteran pugi- list, and landed a couple of terrific kicks before his opponent knew what was happening. The black´s near side flank was cut and bleeding. If the grey had been shod the black´s propelling ma- chinery would have been well nigh out of action. As it was, however, the sharp rat-tat off his quarters merely served to irritate him. He dashed in again, wheeled, and let drive with both hoofs together, but the grey showed ex- traordinary cleverness in avoiding pun- ishment, changing from broadside on to end on like a flash. ¶ The grey had lost his off-side eye in a previous battle, and it was necessary for him therefore to keep the enemy always on his near side. With this object he shifted his ground with amazing rapidity at each fresh onset. Suddenly the black reared up and lashed out vigorously with his fore leg on his enemy´s head. The grey seized the near fore leg in his mouth, but before he could bring his teeth together the black got in a blow with the off fore foot which made the enemy´s jaw rattle, and the imprisoned member was released. ¶ Round and round they circled, emit- ting blood-curdling squeals and kicking and biting with such incredible quick- ness that the eye could scarcely follow their movements. The grey was far the cleverer, but he was also far the older. Veteran of a hundred fights, there was scarcely any part of his body that did not bear honorable scars. Both his ears had been badly chewed, and in addition to the loss of an eye, he had had one side of his jaw knocked altogether out of shape. But he was a stubborn fight- er, and he more than held his own agaist° the black in the hoof play. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER III. — THE BLACK STALLION. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ A furious rough-and-tumble brought both horses to the ground. They were up again like a flash, but, in the juggle, the grey lost his position, and in an in- stant the black was at him from the off- side — which was also the blind side. The black got his teeth firmly locked into the old grey´s muscular neck. He held on like a bull-dog ; he bore down with all his weight on his victim. In vain the grey snapped furiously. He could reach nothing. He was forced backwards and over. As he fell the black was on top of him and a report like the crack of a revolver told that the grey had broken a leg. He made an attempt to rise, but fell back helpless. He had fought his last fight, and once more was proved that rigorous rule to which there are no exceptions — the rule which lays it down that “ youth will be served. ” ¶ It was just at this critical moment, when the victorious black, covered with blood and mud and foam, was standing over the prostrate form of his doughty foe, that Mr. Robins managed to put the crown on all his previous achieve- ments, by an exploit which had a far- reaching result upon the destiny of seve- ral of the leading inhabitants of Wara- tah Valley. It was perhaps fortunate for him that, in the excitement of watch- ing the terrifying equine battle, he had dropped his rifle — otherwise he would certainly have succeeded in shooting himself. But there still remained one infinitesimal chance of spoiling all Silas Weldon´s carefully-laid plains°, and it is hardly necessary to say that Mr. Robins took it. ¶ In the ebb and flow of the tide of combat the two stallions had covered a great deal of ground, and the last furious onset took place exactly under- neath the big gum tree which sheltered, upon one of its upper branches, that un- blushing impostor and most disappoint- ing of sportsmen, Mr. Alfred Robins. In his eagerness to see all that there was to see he had worked himself several feet out on the lateral branch of the gaunt gum tree. In endeavoring to go one foot further towards the end, the end arrived. There was a sharp crack, and then a large piece of green timber with a frenzied little man clawing all over it, descended upon the back of the black stallion. ¶ What the black stallion thought about the visitor who dropped in so uncere- moniously upon such an important occa- sion can only be dimly conjectured from his actions. When Mr. Robins had taken his seat upon the animal´s back the black stallion, who could fight an earthly enemy, but drew the line at the occult, gave one buck and no more. That buck deposited Mr. Robins for the second time that day on his head in a dense patch of blackberry bush, and he had at least twelve hours´ work before him in picking those irritating little blackberry thorns out of his cranium. But the black-stal- lion did not wait to watch the opera- tion. Panic looked out from the eyes in which only a few minutes earlier nothing gleamed but the honest lust of battle. With a succession of bounds he put himself at the head of the double squadron, and the strange brumbies un- questioningly accepted him as their leader with that pathetic readiness — so characteristic of a democracy — to abandon an old and trusted guide, and to select some untried experimentalist for the position. ¶ The black stallion had been excited during the progress of the fight, but now he was distraught. No two-legged thing had ever sat on his back before, even for a second. He was mad with fear. An overmastering impulse to flee took pos- session of him. In spite of the severe treatment that he had received he was practically uninjured, and though he was bleeding freely from flesh wounds, his vigor, youth and stamina stood him in such good stead that he was still able to gallop as well as ever. In far less time than it takes to write the words the black stallion, with ears flattened against his head and the whites of his panic-stricken eyes gleaming, was in full retreat from the spot where that strange two-legged thing had bestridden him for one brief instant. Any where, any where, away from that terrifying spot ! ¶ So it came about that the double squadron of nearly four hundred wild horses, led by a semi-insane black stal- lion, swept away like a hurricane from Boggy Greek, seeking distant haunts in the illimitable recesses of the heavily timbered country that runs back from the coast towards the great mountain range that is the backbone of Australia. But, just before he reached the timber belt, the leader swerved. His great fight had shaken him. He drew back from the heavy timber where hard blows, as he knew well, awaited the most active galloper, and he bore away to the right over the open grass coun- try that formed the lower slopes of Big Hill. ¶ The whole mob followed their leader without a single defection, imbibing panic from his example, and communi- cating their nameless terrors to each other by that inexplicable law which makes the sum of the passions of a crowd such a monstrous and wholly in- calculable influence. In point of fact, the two squadrons of wild horses were for the time being virtually insane, and the black stallion who led them was so entirely possessed by his fears as to be quite out of his mind. With slavering jaws and eyes suffused with blood, he led the thundering ranks of his followers at an ever-increasing pace round the sloping flanks of Big Hill and straight on in a course that must bring the equine tornado directly over the new “ birthright ” area — and the splitter´s tent in which big Tom and little Benny were sleeping when Alice Hardy and Bert Milligan passed over the spot in the Lithgow bi-plane about six hours earlier. ¶ Robins watched the stampede with very mixed feelings. In spite of all old Weldon´s warnings he had missed an easy opportunity of bagging the terrible black stallion. He had irretrievably bungled the entire enterprise, and, worse than all, had precipitated the flight of the horses into remote hiding places where it was hopeless to think of fol- lowing them. As he sat on a log with his chin on his hands gloomily meditating upon his ill-luck he heard a melancholy neigh behind him. It was the old grey stallion limping slowly along on three legs and swinging the useless fourth. ¶ The soap-hawker thereupon performed the only useful act that he succeeded in accomplishing-throughout the whole ex- pedition. He placed a cartridge in the Winchester, put the end of the barrel to the old grey stallion´s forehead, and pulled the trigger. ¶ But where on earth was Silas Weldon ? And why had he not put in an appear- ance at the scene of action ? Surely he must have seen the arrival of the two squadrons, and he must have heard the tumult of the great battle and the thun- der of the final stampede. Robins de- cided to organise himself into a search party. He gingerly picked up his Win- chester, turned his back on the old grey stallion lying dead under the gum tree, and plodded along the bank of the creek, following its course down to the stock- road crossing. After walking a couple of miles he caught sight of the runabout standing in a bush track, and near it the object of his search. ¶ Old Silas Weldon was lying, face downwards, in the grass. The mystery of his non-appearance at the scene of the encounter was solved ! His face was purple, and, as the soap-dealer turned him over, an explanatory snore proceed- ed from his lips. The bottle of milk beside him was completely empty. So also was the bottle of rum. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ Love and the Æroplane. ¶ CHAPTER III. ¶ THE BLACK STALLION. ¶ “ Well, if you must come too, I sup- pose you must, ” grumbled old Silas Weldon, as Robins, the spry little soap canvasser, helped him to pull out Bill Blake´s capacious runabout from the shed. ¶ It was a good hour before daybreak, and Robins blew dismally on his chill- ed fingers. What an ass he had been to come down to Waratah Valley at all. The business to be done there wouldn`t pay expenses. Most of the people he had seen never used soap. Of that he was confident. And what a still greater ass he was to get up in the middle of the night in order to go shooting wild horses with a soured old brute like the decayed circus proprietor. Mr. Robins spat on the ground, angrily. ¶ “ Wake up, Suds, ” growled old Silas. “ We wanter get ter Mount Baldy be- fore sun´s up, or the day`ll be wasted. ” ¶ Robins pushed furiously at the run- about. It had solid rubber tyres, and weighed nearly a ton. He could not move it out of the flimsy weatherboard shed. Silas was busy and could not as- sist. He had a bottle of rum in one hand and a bottle of milk in the other. First he raised the rum bottle to his lips and poured out a generous mouth- ful — about a quarter of a pint— of the neat spirit. Then he despatched in pursuit a “ chaser ” of fresh milk. The whole operation required his undivided attention, and when he looked up again the runabout was still in the same place, and Mr. Robins, with purple gills and eyeballs protruding from their sockets, was pushing fruitlessly at the stolid machine. ¶ “ Get in an` drive her out, ” yelled Silas, following up his instruction with some curt remarks reminiscent of his early days — the kind of language which had often found effective in dealing with a jibbing elephant. ¶ Robins jumped into the runabout, which was throbbing and thumping in the shed, quite ready for the touch that was to start it forward. He gripped a lever and pulled it over. The massive car began to move — but backwards ! ¶ Robins lost his head altogether then. There way a sound of reading and tear- ing as the car backed straight through the rear wall of the shed laying the entire end of the structure level with the ground and passing out with majes- tic unconcern. ¶ “ Nice kind of an article you are to take out on a ticklish job, I don`t think, ” remarked Mr. Weldon grimly, as he watched the frantic efforts of Mr. Robins to control the heavy runabout, which was running round in a circle backwards, while the amateur driver tried one lever after another in the hope of bringing it to reason. At last, how- ever, the machine was under control, and Silas Weldon pushed Mr. Robins unceremoniously out of the driving seat and occupied it himself. ¶ “ I dunno about taking you, after all, ” he grunted. “ Ye`re jest the kind of loonattick to get us inter trouble. ” ¶ Robins was excited, dishevelled, and apologetic. He explained volubly that it was all the fault of the runabout. ¶ Silas cut short his apologies gruffly. “ Get in, ” he commanded. “ I s`pose I`ve gotter take yer now. You can ex- plain it to Bill Blake ter-morrer. ” ¶ The “ loonattick, ” much subdued by his misadventure, put the two Winches- ter rifles into the car without a word, then the sugar bag full of cartridges, and, last of all, the billy and the tuck- er basket. Silas sat impatiently in the driving seat with the rum bottle stick- ing out of one capacious pocket of his ancient overcoat, and the bottle of milk out of the other. ¶ “ `Urry up, young feller, ” he growl- ed. “ We gotter be at Boggy Creek at sunrise to ketch `em drinkin`. ” ¶ The runabout, like Whyte Melville´s famous old hunter, was a “ rum `un to look at, ” but “ a good `un to go, ” and Silas sent it along for all he was worth. They went over the broken ground at such a break-neck pace that Robins felt the teeth shaking in his jaws. They whizzed through a gap in the fence at the end of the paddock, bumped down a low bank, jolted across the culvert, and rattled away over a dubious bush track in the direction of Boggy Creek, fifteen miles distant. ¶ “ The blamed old tin kettle can move along fast enough when she likes, ” re- marked Silas pleasantly, as the engines throbbed and bumped under their feet. “ She orter be doin` about twenty an hour now. ” ¶ Robins was being bounced up and down like a tennis ball while he held on to the back of the seat with one hand, and to the outer rail with the other. Every time the runabout hit a log she bucked like an outlaw, and the unhappy traveller was afraid to open his mouth lest he might bite his tongue in half. He was an excellent listener while they were in the rough ground. ¶ “ Now, ” said the old man in grim tones, “ when we comes ter Boggy Creek, you just remember wot I tell yer, and mind you do it. This horse huntin` ain`t as easy as peddlin` soap, an` don`t you think it. Our only charnce is to ketch `em at the water, for, if they got away inter the big bush where we can`t foller `em in this `ere sausage machine, we`re done for the day, sonny, mind that. ” ¶ “ Wo-ho-hot are you go-ho-hoing ter dud-dud-do when we gug-gug-get there ? ” inquired Mr. Robins between the bumps. ¶ “ Ye see, it`s this way, ” explained the wary old hunter. “ There`s two places on the Boggy Creek where them horses can come to the water an` ye can`t never tell which of `em it will be. One place is where the bank are low, near the log bridge clost against mad Mick Manhoney´s, and the other is about two mile down stream where the creek opens out by the old stock road. The old grey mostly brings the mob along ter the stock road ford, but if the black stallian `appens to be in charge `e might lead `em to the crossin` near the log bridge. I`m goin` to leave you at the log bridge — mind, I don`t say they will come there, an` I don`t even think they will, but it`s best to give `em no charnces — an` I`m goin` down in the runabout to wait at the stock road. Wot you`ve gotter do is to set quiet in the fork of the big gum on the other side of the creek with yer Winchester in yer `and, an` a pocketful of cart- ridges. The black stallion`s mighty tricky. If he winds yer at all `e won`t come within a mile of ye, but ef `e`s thinkin` of somethin` else as like as not he`ll bring his `ole bloomin` `arem along, an` you ortor get a good charnce at `em. Ef ye can`t get a shot at the forehead aim just be`ind the shoulder, an` you`ll be right. But be careful of the black. `E`s a man eater orl right, an` if ye miss him don`t you come outer that tree wotever you do, or you`ll only be fit for the boiling down work yer- self. ” ¶ Mr. Robins experienced a sudden chill in the region of the spine, and al- so the sensation of well marked nausea. Was it for this that he had got up at two in the morning and borne the ob- jurgations of this terrible old man without telling him what he thought of him ? ¶ “ The black is the leader of a mob that gen`ally tallies about a `undred, ” continued the old man, wagging his head reflectively, “ but there`ll be plen- ty more not far off. `E`s fought `is way right up to teh head of the mob, an` ye can take it from me `e`s an orl right fighter. `E was born in the bush, an` so was `is sire an` dam before `im, an` a trickier, wickeder, madder brute you`ve never seen in yer natcheral. You jest keep yer block, sonny, an` put a bullet plumb through his forehead ef ye can. But don`t ye go fer to miss `im, becos it`s my belief `e`d climb the tree after ye. ” ¶ By this time Mr. Robins was rapidly getting into a condition in which he would have found it difficult to hit a cathedral at thirty pace. He only just managed to stutter his thanks for the honour that Mr. Weldon purposed to confer upon him when Silas resumed his task of lightly outlining the forthcom- ing campaign. ¶ “ Ye see , ” said the old man, “ I got- ter watch the stock road becos that`s where they generally come when the ole grey is in charge. A nice ole cup er tea he is too. `Im an` the black ain`t settled it yet which is ter be the boss. Anyhow, that`s how I figger it out. They mostly `as a scrap whenever they meet. The old grey has got only one eye left, but `e stands about `arf a `and `igher than the black ; `is teeth are like a buzz-saw, and `e kicks like a quick firer. In a scrap to a finish I ain`t sure which of `em I`d back, but, anyhow, I owe `im one for chasin` me about three miles in the runabout, with his mouth open, one evening larst week, when I`d dropped my gun. I ain`t look- in` for a matinee performance of the same piece, and ye can bet good money on that. `Ullo, we`re clost up to it now. There`s a bit er pink light in the east, and there`s good old Boggy Creek too. ” ¶ It was a long speech for the ex-ring- master, but Robins remembered every word of it. He began to conjecture nervously that the old man would see him done to death. And when he was dead Silas no doubt would claim five bob for his scalp, and would send his remains to be boiled down for tallow. Pinching himself to make sure he was still alive and also awake, the little soap dealer sought to nerve himself to make the great confession. ¶ He had never fired a gun of any sort in his whole life ! ¶ What would Silas say when he heard that miserable admission ? Nay more. What would he probably do ? Little Robins saw himself in fancy already ejected from the roundabout and left to face the onrush of the savage, wild horses, while Silas disappeared in a cloud of petrol reek and soul-scaring imprecations. ¶ Perhaps it would be better not to tell him until after the day´s sport was over. And then the magnitude of his bag would doubtless atone for his ap- parent lack of frankness when he made the application to accompany the horse hunter. Moral courage was not the strong point of Mr. Robins. His natural gift of fluency was no use to him here. In fact, he felt that his only safety lay in silence. ¶ The runabout caracoled joyously over the last humpy mile that formed the approach to Boggy Creek. Mr. Robins was sick and sore and extreme- ly frightened. His nervousness did not decrease when Silas brought the run- about to a standstill at the edge of the creek, and curtly ordered his mate to get out. ¶ As Robin stiffly descended from the car, grasping one of the Winchesters awkwardly by the barrel, the sun was just rising. The hard biscuit that Silas produced from the tucker basket and handed to him almost chocked° him, but a tot of rum and milk in a tin panni- kin stopped his teeth from chattering, and he was able to take stock of his surroundings. ¶ Boggy Creek turned out to be a for- midable young river with steep banks rising about twenty foot above the level of the water on both sides, except at the particular spot to which Silas had piloted the runabout. Here there was a practicable watering place, for the bank on the far side shelved gently down to the creek, and Robin remark- ed with trepidation that the mud bore unmistakable signs of having been trampled by a large number of animals. About a hundred yards higher a couple of big logs had been thrown across the creek and formed a rough bridge. A thick growth of blackberry scrub and Bathurst burr clothed both banks, mak- ing the creek a formidable obstacle for any animal, wild or domesticated, to get across, and difficult of access even for drinking, except in the one particu- lar spot. Apart from the blackberry scrub the ground near the creek was fairly open, but a few acacias and gums of moderate size grew within a score of yards of the creek, and one big fellow forking within a few feet of the ground was quite unclimbable. ¶ “ Ye see how it is, ” said Silas, whose volubility was increasing under con- tinued application of rum and milk. “ Them blamed horses carn`t get acrost to this side of the crick at all. They gotter keep over on that side, an` you may guess wot sorter charnce we`d `ave of gettin` near `em in that God-forsak- en bush. There`s yer tree. ” ¶ “ Have I gug-gug-gotter geg-gog-get up there this minnit ? ” inquired Robins apprehensively. ¶ “ Cuck-cuck-course you `ave, ” mim- icked the old man derisively. “ Y` ain`t scared, are ye ? ” ¶ Robins stoutly denied the accusa- tion — in a voice that entirely failed to carry conviction. ¶ “ An` if ye`ll take my advice, ” add- ed Silas, “ ye`ll leave off holdin` that Winchester by the end of the bar —— Gee whizz ! ” ¶ There was a sharp {report} as a bullet hum- med past Weldon´s ear and sped away into the immensities across the track. The old man´s vocabulary failed him at the moment of direst need. He could only stare dumbly at Mr. Robins, who had tripped over a tussock and pitched head first into a blackberry bush, where he lay yelling for help. ¶ “ Serve ye right ef I left ye there, ” remarked Silas grimly ; and then he suddenly found the use of his tongue, and proceeded to “ deal it out ” to the prostrate idiot who didn`t know better than to carry a rifle by the business end, and who must have loaded it be- fore doin` so. Mr. Weldon bent down as soon as he recovered his breath, and, grasping his blundering companion by the slack of his pants, jerked him to his feet. ¶ “ I really forgot that it was loaded, ” gabbled Mr. Robins, holding up both hands as though to ward off a well-mer- ited blow. ¶ “ I know I orter pitch ye into the crick, ” replied Mr. Weldon thought- fully, “ `cos it`s the only safe place for ye, but as I brought ye here, I a`pose I`ll have ter keep ye. Dunno but what that shot will have scared the mob half way to the Snowy River by this time. But anyhow you gotter get up inter that gum, and wait, and watch. ” ¶ He threw a withering glance at the miserable object before him. ¶ “ An` here`s one last word of ad- vice, ” he added. “ Ef that black stal- lion does come along, climb a bit `igher, that`s all, am` mind you shoot straight. ” ¶ The old showman turned on his heel and strode off to the runabout — a gro- tesque figure with the tails of his long and filthy overcoat flying, and the neck of a bottle protruding from each poc- ket. He got into the car, and, without once turning his head, set off at a reck- less pace along the bank of the creek, heading for the old stock road. ¶ “ What kind of Robinson Crusoe game is this ? ” muttered the disillus- ioned sportsman who was left behind. He glanced nervously at the thick bush across the creek and then proceeded cautiously to extract the blackberry thorns from his hand. He had a rough idea of the locality. To his right, on the other side of the creek, rose Mount Baldy, and, following with his eye the irregular outline of the range, he could make out next to it the lower slopes of Big Hill — where Tom Hardy´s “ birth- right ” area was located. The timber was thinner on the lower slopes, and if Robins had had any eye for country — which he hadn`t — he would have seen that it had the making of splendid farming land. Rich, black soil, heavily grassed, stretched away as far as the eye could reach on the right, and, in the open patches, tall, slender, graceful cabbage palms lifted up their feathery tops, and scarlet flame trees struck vivid notes of colour amid the durrel greys and greens. Tom Hardy knew what he was doing when he picked out Big Hill. It was a bit of real South Coast garden in the rough. ¶ “ Good mind to walk back to Wara- tah Valley ” said Robins to himself, as he gazed without enthusiasm at the scene. He had always frankly hated the bush. But the thought of Silas Weldon steadied him. The old man was savage enough to do him a personal in- jury if he left his allotted post. ¶ Reluctantly and slowly Mr. Robins took up the detestable rifle, and felt in his pockets for the cartridges. Ho was hungry, he was sore, and he was very much scared. Old Weldon had gone off with the tucker basket, and the horrible silence of the bush was depressing. ¶ Looking nervously around him Rob- ins walked slowly to the log bridge. In the middle he slipped, but recovered himself with an effort. Pushing his way through the blackberry scrub that had been thinned out by some practised hand where the crossing had to be ne- gotiated, Robins quickly reached the gum tree and clambered into the first fork, which was barely five feet above the level of the ground. Feeling far from secure in his niche he scrambled up another ten feet and perched astride of the bough that stood out straight from the main trunk, making as nearly as possible a right angle with it. It was not a thick bough. In fact, the outer end dropped ominously when the sportsman shifted himself out on in a few inches from the main trunk, so he speedily got back to safety. ¶ Hardly had he settled himself in the angle made by the main trunk and the lateral bough when the neigh of a horse broke the portentous silence. It came from the Big Hill country, and was answered almost at once by another neigh from the direction of Mount Bal- dy. There was a ringing militancy in these horse cries that boded trouble. ¶ The rising sun had already touched the smooth skull of Mount Baldy with gold, and was slowly spreading down from the long plateau of Big Hill when Robins in his arboreal refuge distinctly beard the canter of unshod hoofs upon springy turf to his right, and the rat- tle and crash of another big mob away to the left, where the timber was so thick that none but horse bred in the country could keep going at all. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ Love and the Æroplane. ¶ CHAPTER III. ¶ THE BLACK STALLION. ¶ Nearer and nearer drew the sounds. Mr. Robins grew so excited that he burst out into a cold perspiration. It certainly seemed — if one could judge from the noises — that both mobs were moving in his direction, and moving fast. Where on earth was Silas Wel- don ? Why did he delay at this critical moment when his mature counsel would be invaluable ? The question remained unanswered and Mr. Silas Weldon´s silence continued to be inexplicable to his disconcerted partner in the enter- prise. ¶ Meantime it became clear to the watcher in the tree that two squadrons of horse were converging upon the creek. The squadron on his left had apparently been directed at first so as to strike the creek at the stock road crossing as predicted by Silas, but the challenging neigh of the leader of the first squadron could not be left unan- swered, and the leader of the second squadron had altered his course so as to hit the same drinking place as his rival. ¶ Peering out through the gum leaves while he clutched the Winchester in trembling fingers, the anxious onlooker witnessed a magnificent and altogether unprecedented spectacle. Hitherto the Australian brumbies were for the most part a miserable lot of weeds, with the rat-hams and the narrow chests of un- mistakable degeneracy. They were the offspring of horses not worth retaining in domestication, and they speedily re- verted to the very poorest equine type when they bred in the wild state. ¶ But how different were the horses that Robins, in a perfect agony of ap- prehension, saw sweeping down upon him as they burst out through the far line of thin timber half way up the range, and galloped across a broad belt of richly grassed pasture. Large bon- ed, powerful animals they certainly were, as he could see already. Fifty yards in front of the main body canter- ed a great black stallion, and thunder- ing behind him came fully two hundred horses and mares in an irregular line that extended with a front of nearly half a mile in length. Many of the mares had yearlings running beside them, and, in the golden light of the breaking day, bays and browns, roans and chestnuts, blacks and creams and greys shone out as though they were burnished. They were only cantering slowly, and gave the impression of be- ing perfectly under the control of the leader, but, as Robins watched them, he shuddered nervously. If they really got going in a mad gallop was there any obstacle that could stop their charge ? ¶ As the unspoken question flitted through his mind he turned his head and saw the second squadron emerging for a few minutes from the thick belt of scrub away to the left. It was led by a huge grey stallion surprisingly active for his size, and it consisted of not less than a hundred and fifty hor- ses. They disappeared once more into a second belt of scrub, and Robins could plainly hear the rending and crashing of the smaller saplings as the horses dashed through them, avoiding the solid timber with the practised ease of the true range-bred brumby. Small- hoofed and iron-legged, these horses were quite unlike their broad hoofed and relatively clumsy domesticated progenitors of the plain country. They could keep going in the thickest bush as well as on the most precipitous range, and once their blood was up no- thing could stop them. ¶ As the little soap peddler stared open eyed at the impressive spectacle before him the converging lines drew closer together, until the extreme right wing of the first squadron came into touch with the extreme left wing of the sec- ond. The two squadrons, now united, made a line half a mile long ; the huge grey stallion still cantering in front of his own followers while the black led on the others. The country that extend- ed back, from the creek was perfectly open for about a mile in the direction of the ranges, and in this open zone, which formed an immense natural arena one mighty mob of horses was gallop- ing — with two leaders ! ¶ With two leaders ! Clearly the situa- tion was impossible. ¶ A neigh that was more like a bellow of definance° came from the black stal- lion. ¶ Squealing with rage the grey took up the challenge, and, starting by mutual consent, the two champions charged at each other under the eyes of their re- spective followers. They came together within fifty yards of the tree in which Robins was perched, and a Titanic com- bat began almost underneath him. ¶ As the black flung himself into the fight the hackles on his neck stood up like the bristles on a bull terrier. His cars were flattened back against his head, and his long tail was tucked tightly in between his powerful haunches. Watching his opportunity he rushed in, prepared to finish off his enemy in the first round, and, turning like lightning, let fly with his hind feet at the place where the grey´s middle section should have been. But the grey dodged the attack with the skill of a veteran pugilist, and landed a couple of terrific kicks before his opponent knew what was happening. The black´s near side flank was cut and bleeding. If the grey had been shod the black´s propell- ing machinery would have been well night° put out of action. As it was, however, the sharp rat-rat on his quar- ters merely served to irritate him. He dashed in again, wheeled and let drive with both hoofs together, but the grey showed extraordinary cleverness in avoiding punishment, changing from broadside on to end on like a flash. ¶ The grey had lost his off-side eye in a previous battle, and it was necessary for him therefore to keep the enemy al- ways on his near side. With this object he shifted his ground with amazing ra- pidity at each fresh onset. Suddenly the black reared up and lashed out vig- orously with his fore feet at his en- emy´s head. The grey seized the near fore leg in his mouth, but before he could bring his teeth together the black got in a blow with the off fore foot, which made the enemy´s jaw rattle, and the imprisoned member was released. ¶ Round and round they circled, emit- ting blood-curdling squeals and kicking and biting with such incredible quick- ness that the eye could scarcely follow their movements. The grey was far the cleverer, but he was also far the older. Veteran of a hundred fights, there was scarcely any part of his body that did not bear honourable scars. Both his ears had been badly chewed, and in ad- dition to the loss of an eye, he had had one side of his jaw knocked altogether out of shape. But he was a stubborn fighter, and he more than held his own against the black in the hoof play. ¶ A furious rough and tumble brought both horses to the ground. They were up again like a flash, but in the jug- gle, the grey lost his position, and in an instant the black was at him from the off-side — which was also the blind side. The black got his teeth firmly locked into the old grey´s muscular neck. He held on like a bull dog ; he bore down with all his weight on his victim. In vain the grey snapped fur- iously. He could reach nothing. He was forced backwards and over. As he fell the black was on top of him, and a report, like the crack of a revolver told that the grey had broken a leg. He made an attempt to rise, but fell back helpless. He had fought his last fight, and once more was proved that rigorous rule to which there are no exceptions — the rule which lays it down that “ youth will be served. ” ¶ It was just at this critical moment, when the victorious black, covered with blood and mud and foam, was standing over the prostrate form of his doughty foe, that Mr. Robins managed to put the crown on all his previous achieve- ments, by an exploit which had a far- reaching result upon the destiny of sev- eral of the leading inhabitants of Wara- tah Valley. It was perhaps fortunate for him that, in the excitement of watching the terrifying battle, he had dropped his rifle — otherwise he would certainly have succeeded in shooting himself. But there stil° lremained° one infinitesimal chance of spoiling all Silas Weldon´s carefully laid plans, and it is hardly necessary to say that Mr. Rob- ins took it. ¶ In the ebb and flow of the tide of combat the two stallions had covered a great deal of ground, and the last furi- ous onset took place exactly underneath the big gum tree which sheltered upon one of its upper branches, that unblush- ing imposter and most disappointing of sportsmen, Mr. Alfred Robins. In his eagerness to see all that there was to see he had worked himself several feet out on the lateral branch of the gaunt gum tree. In endeavouring to go one foot further towards the end, the end arrived. There was a sharp crack, and then a large piece of green timber with a frenzied little man clawing all over it, descended upon the back of the black stallion. ¶ What the black stallion thought about the visitor who dropped in so un- ceremoniously upon such an important occasion can only be dimly conjectured from his actions. When Mr. Robins had taken his seat upon the animal´s back the black stallion, who could fight an earthly enemy, but drew the line at the occult, gave one buck and no more. That buck deposited Mr. Robins for the second time that day on his head in a dense patch of blackberry bush, and he had at least twelve hours´ work before him in picking those irritating little blackberry thorns out of his cranium. But the black stallion did not wait to watch the operation. Panic looked out from the eyes in which only a few miutes° before nothing gleamed but the honest lust of battle. With a succession of bounds he put himself at the head of the double squadron, and the strange brumbies unquestionably accepted him as their leader with that pathetic readi- ness — so characteristic of a democracy — to abandon an old and trusted guide, and to select some untried, experimen- talist for the position. ¶ The black stallion had been excited during the progress of the fight, but now he was distraught. No two-legged thing had ever sat on his back before even for a second. He was mad with fear. On overmastering impulse to flee took possession of him. In spite of the severe treatment that he had received he was practically uninjured, and though he was bleeding freely from flesh wounds, his vigour, youth and stamina stood him in such good stead that he was still able to gallop as well as ever. In far less time than it takes to write the words, the black stallion, with ears flattened against his head, and the whites of his panic stricken eyes gleaming, was in full retreat from the spot where that strange two-legged thing had bestridden him for one brief instant. Anywhere, anywhere, away from that terrifying spot ! ¶ So it came about that the double squadron of nearly four hundred wild horses, led by a semi-insane black stal- lion, swept away like a hurricane from Boggy Creek, seeking distant haunts in the illimitable recesses of the heavily- timbered country that runs back from the coast towards the great mountain range that is the backbone of Australia. But, just as he reached the timber belt, the leader swerved. His great fight had shaken him. He drew back from the heavy himber° where hard blows, as he knew well, awaited the most active gal- loper, and he bore away to the right over the open grass country that form- ed the lower slopes of Big Hill. ¶ The whole mob followed their leader without a single defection imbibing panic from his example, and communi- cating their nameless terrors to each other by that inexplicable law which makes the sum of the passions of a crowd such a monstrous and wholly in- calculable influence. In pointof° fact the two squadrons of wild horses were for the time being virtually insane, and the black stallion who led them was so entirely possessed by his fears as to be quite out of his mind. With slavering jaws and eyes suffused with blood, he led the thundering ranks of his follow- ers at an ever-increasing pace round the sloping flanks of Big Hill and straight on in a course that must bring the equine tornado directly over the new “ birthright ” area — and the split- ter´s tent in which big Tom and little Benny were sleeping when Alice Hardy and Bert Milligan pasesd° over the spot in the Lithgow biplane about six hours earlier. ¶ Robins watched the stampede with very mixed feelings. In spite of all old Weldon´s warnings he had missed an easy opportunity of bagging the ter- rible black stallion. He had irretriev- abyl bungled the entire enterprise, and, worse than all, had precipitated the flight of the horses into remote hiding places where it was hopeless to think of following them. As he sat on a log with his chin on his hands gloomily me- ditating upon his ill luck, he heard a melancholy neigh behind him. It was the old grey stallion limping slowly along on three legs and swinging the useless fourth. ¶ The soap hawker thereupon perform- ed the only useful act that he succeeded in accomplishing throughout the whole expedition. He placed a cartridge in the Winchester, put the end of the bar- rel to the old grey´s forehead, and pull- ed the trigger. ¶ But where on earth was Silas Wel- don ? And why, had he not put in an appearance at the scene of action ? Surely he must have seen the arrival of the two squadrons, and he must have heard the tumult of the great battle and the thunder of the final stampede. Robins decided to organise himself into a search party. He gingerly picked up his Winchester, turned his back on the old grey stallion lying dead under the gum tree, and plodded along the bank of the creek, following its course down to the stock road crossing. After walk- ing a couple of miles he caught sight of the runabout standing in a bush track and near it the object of his search. ¶ Old Silas Weldon was lying, face downwards, in the grass. The mystery of his non-appearance at the scene of the encounter was solved. His face was purple, and, as the soap dealer turn- ed him over, an explanatory snore pro- ceeded from his lips. The bottle of milk beside him was completely empty. So also was the bottle of rum. ¶ CHAPTER IV. ¶ THE GREAT STAMPEDE. ¶ “ Now then, Benny, it`s time to get up. ” ¶ The small four year old urchin clasp- ed his arms more tightly round his father´s neck and smiled roguishly without opening his eyes. This was a regular game of his. Nothing would in- duce him to awake until his father had kissed him on both eyes. Then they would open, and Benny was ready to be- gin the business of the day. He had dozens of such tricks, and his father knew them all by heart. ¶ The splitter´s tent was a very primi- tive sleeping place. A sapling, resting lengthwise in the forks of two uprights, supported the canvas which was secure- ly pegged down at the sides and back. A waterproof sheet was stretched on the ground, and over it were several thick blue blankets. Benny and his father slept very snugly in those blan- kets, with their feet towards the open front of the tent and the big log fire that was still smouldering a few yards away. ¶ Tom rolled out of the blankets, crept on all fours from the tent, and proceed- ed to sluice his head and arms in the little fern-encumbered creek that tinkl- ed merrily beside the camp. ¶ “ Me too, Daddy, ” burgled Benny gleefully. He scrambled out of his small flannel sleeping garments, and danced towards the creek — the veritable re-in- carnation of one of those sylvan fauns that sported beside the stream Alpheus, goodness knows how many centuries ago. Tom bathed him in the creek, and the small, cleared space in the heart of the mountain solitude rang with the merry laughter of the urchin. ¶ Breakfast was a cheery meal. A very small corner of the smouldering log fire served to boil the billy, and the plain, wholesome tucker was simply delicious. ¶ “ If only mother was here, ” said Benny, with his mouth full of biscuit, “ wouldn`t it be lovely ? ” ¶ “ My word it would, ” assented Tim, and his thoughts flew back to the beau- tiful woman who sometimes seemed so far away from him, but whom he loved with all the strength of his nature. Of course it must be terribly dull for her in the store. He fully realised that. But when he had made a bit of money he would take her to Sydney and show her the great world. ¶ Poor old Tom ! Wrapped as he was in his land and in the various labour- saving appliances by which he sought to accelerate the process of extracting wealth from it, his mental outlook was so narrowly circumscribed that it scarcely touched the relatively wide segment of existence that Alice Hardy took in with her broad sweep of vision. To his eyes Syndey represented the cul- mination of civilised refinement, the su- preme perfection beyond which it was impossible to go. To Alice it repre- sented merely the point of departure to an unknown external world teeming with glorious possibilities. “ The real distances of life, ” as a great dramatist makes one of his characters remark, “ are in ourselves. The distance that separates husband and wife, for in- stance. ” ¶ After breakfast, which was soon over, Tom Hardy proceeded to plan out his day´s work, which was to last from dawn to sunset. He was a good deal worried about this new section of his at the top of Big Hill. It was a hun- dred acre block of excellent, although heavily timbered land, and it had lately been allotted to him by the Government when little Benny attained his fourth birthday. ¶ The Population Encouragement Act had been hotly debated when the bill was first introduced in the state Parlia- ment, and strong opposition was shown in the Legislative Council towards its leading provision, which set forth that every bona fide agriculturist who be- came the father of a child born in wed- lock in any of the rural electorates of New South Wales should, on the said child attaining the age of four years, be granted a leasehold — convertible under certain conditions into a freehold title — of a section of one hundred acres of Crown land, to be selected by the appli- cant from the available land in his elec- toral division, A good deal had been said about “ pauperising the people ” by the kind of men who invariably raise that cry when long-standing abuses are being remedied by progressive legisla- tion, but the bill became law in spite of the opposition. ¶ Some of Hardy´s neighbours held as much as six hundred acres apiece, which had been granted to them under the provisions of the Act, and the State Statistician´s annual reports showed a most encouraging improvement in the natural increase of the native born population. This particular piece of land watered by the fern-encumbered creek in which Benny had just bathed, was therefore that small Australian´s veritable birthright. How to make the most of it was just now big Tom´s sole preoccupation. ¶ It was with that object in view that Tom, after lighting his pipe, sauntered over to the rough, squarely built, motor- driven lorry that he used for carrying his working plant in the bush, and lift- ed out first a big American buzz-saw, and then a couple of handy little elec- trically-driven motors of the latest de- sign. These represented the last word in scientific tree felling. The new per- manent storage batteries in which co- balt was largely used, supplied power reliably and very inexpensive, and the buzz-saw did the rest. ¶ Tom Hardy gazed° up the buzz-saw, fixed the motors, one on each side of a regular “ old man ” blue gum, and re- tired to a convenient distance to smoke his pipe, taking Benny with him. The buzzing went on smoothly for five or six minutes, and then it was interrupt- ed by an earth shaking chash°, as the huge tree 250 feet high and nearly 12 feet in diameter, toppled over, cutting a wide swath in the smaller timber that it encountered in its fall. ¶ Benny clapped his hands with de- light. He ran off to inspect the fallen monarch, and when he got back again, he found Mr. Cassidy, the trooper from Waratah Valley, in earnest conversation with his father. Benny evinced no sur- prise at the sudden appearance of the visitor. Mr. Cassidy had literally {drop- ped from the clouds, and his handy lit- tle} aeroplane was standing by the log on which he and Tom Hardy sat. ¶ “ She`s right enough whin ye git used to her, ” Mr. Cassidy was saying, “ but the harse wuz handier for the short trips at anny rate. ” He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “ Shtill I`m not sayin` annything aginst her at all, at all, ” he added hurriedly, as though determined to give no offence to his new means of conveyance. “ An shure if ye treat her right she`s the quitest little thing that ever ye laid yer leg over. ” ¶ “ But what brings you out here at this hour of the mornin` ? ” demanded Tom Hardy. “ Big Bill is a bit off of yer beat, isn`t it ? ” ¶ “ It is so, ” replied Mr. Cassidy, “ but Bill Blake wuz aroun` to my place an hour agone an` he sez, ‘ Cassidy, ’ sez he, ‘ ould Weldon is gone off, ’ sez he, ‘ wid thot deludherin` little omad- haun uv a soap seller, ’ sez he, “ to thry for a shot at the black shtallion, ’ so he, ‘ an` be this and that, the pair av thim hov hruv me runabout clane t`rough the ind uv me shtable, ’ sez he, taken, ’ sez he, ‘ the saints be bechune ‘ an`' I do be afraid they have dhrink us and harrum ! ” ¶ “ Well, what matter if old Weldon has taken a drop too much ? ” replied the unsympathetic listener. “ He knows his way about these ranges better when he`s drunk than anybody else in the district when sober. ” ¶ “ I`m not sayin` that ould Weldon can`t look afther himself among har- ses, ” said Mr. Cassidy. “ Shure, he ought to be able to, anny way, an` him bein` nearly kilt intirely by them whin he wuz in the business. But it`s the dhurty little peddler thot I`m afeard about. Shure he don`t know wan ind iv a harse fram the other, an` if the black stallion ketches him he`ll ate him as aisy as I`m afther atin` me breakfast. ” ¶ “ But the wild horses are probably a hundred miles away from here, back in the ranges. They haven`t been seen in this part of the country for weeks. ” ¶ “ That`s what you do be t`inkin`, Tom, but you`re wrong, me bhoy, an` more`s the pity. ” ¶ Mr. Cassidy´s clean-shaven face, with the obstinate little eyes set close to- gether, the short nose, long upper lip, and straight, wide, rat-trap mouth wore an expression of marked anxiety. “ Shure I hard th` devils meself not an hour agone, ” he added, “ an thim shquealin` an` fightin` somewhere out by mad Mick Mahoney´s like all pos- sessed. I just dhropped in to warrun ye as I wuz passin` by overhid, an` I`ll be jogging along now to thry if I can see ould Silas an` the peddler. Shure it`s wonderful how aisy it is to see anny one whin ye are walkin` yer bate up in the air. An` mind now what I`m tellin` ye. Do yerself an` little Tom kape well out uv the road uv the black shtallion, for the country ain`t safe while he`s about at all, at all. ” ¶ Mr. Cassidy accepted a fill of Tom´s tobacco for his pipe. Then he adjusted his helmet, buttoned his tunis°, felt round to see that his handcuffs were in position underneath it, in accordance with the regulations, and mounted his Government monoplane. He waved good-bye as he rose above the tops of the gums, and Tom returned to his work with an unaccustomed sense of impend- ing danger. ¶ “ Coo-ee — coo-ee ! Benn-ee ! Benn-ee ! ” Where on earth had the child got to. Hardy was in a fever of nervous appre- hension. While he was talking to the trooper the child had strayed away, and it was necessary to go in search of him at once. In that wild country a youngster might very soon be lost irre- trievably. ¶ The father´s thoughts flew at once to “ Ryan´s Leap, ” a huge abyss, named after some forgotten bushranger, that opened where ordinarily one would have expected to find a saddle connect- ing Big Hill with its neighbour Mount Baldy. Some mysterious convulsion of nature in the remote past had cut out the connecting ridge as cleanly as though it had been done with a gigantic buzz-saw, and left a sheer drop of near- ly two thousand feet into the valley be- low. ¶ Tom Hardy dashed away through the scrub coo-ee-ing loudly as he went. But there was no reply. Sick with fear he raced for Ryan´s Leap, and, emerging from the light timber, scanned the edge of the abyss. ¶ No sign of the child. ¶ Peering over the sheer descent Hardy sent his gaze into the valley below. It was a fearful depth. The time-worn, striated cliff sides were gigantic prison walls closing in the valley, from which there appeared to be no exit. A thin stream of water leaped from the oppo- site cliff-face, but was resolved into mist before it reached half way to the bottom. Far underneath the gazer were enormous boulders that had been loosen- ed by the disintegrating rains and winds and had fallen from above with hollow thunders that reverberated through the unimagined silence of the valley long before the advent of the white man. Over all the space enclosed by the perpendicular cliffs that jutted out irregularly round the opening was spread the eternal blue-green carpet of the eucalyptus. ¶ With a shudder Tom Hardy turned from the yawning gulf, and began a systematic search of the top of the cliff on which he stood. Before he had gone fifty yards a bright gleam of sunlight came through the tree and irradiated little Benny, who lay fast asleep within a few feet of the abyss. ¶ Big Tom seized the child and clasped him in his arms, and as Benny awoke and smiled, the rejoicing father covered him with kisses. ¶ As he was still kissing the bewildered little lad and fondling his shinig° curls a low sound like thunder broke on Tom Hardy´s ears. He looked up at the sky in perplexity. It was blue and cloud- less. But the low thunder in the dis- tance continued. It seemed even to grow gradually louder. Was it only his fancy, or could he really detect a trem- or of the earth ? Then big Tom´s face blanched, and holding little Benny in his arms he started back for the camp. ¶ But it was too late. ¶ Louder and louder roarded the con- tinuous thunder under that blue and cloudless sky. The crashing and rend- ing of timber could be plainly heard, mingled with screams of terror and agony as here and there one of the wild horses was impaled on a sharp, pro- truding branch, or crushed to death against an unyielding giant of the bush. ¶ Benny began to cry, but big Tom´s brain was equal to the emergency. There was only one way of safety, and he took it. ¶ Twenty yards from where he stood with the child in his arms was a mighty gum tree offering nubbly footholds near the ground, and branching out on either side a little higher up. Big Tom placed little Benny astride on his shoulders, and fairly hurled himself at the gum tree. In less than half a minute he was seated securely on a magnificent ilmb° thirty feet above the ground with little Benny beside him. The mighty tree had a circumference of fully thirty feet at the base, and it towered aloft into the blue like some magnificent Gothic spire that points the way to Heaven. Its firm base was like a rock that had al- ready defied the storms of centuries. And well might it defy one storm more. The great tree was placed on the high- est point of the ridge, and, from his perch on the cross branch, Tom Hardy could look over the sheer declivity of Ryan´s Leap scarcely a dozen yards away, and down into the gloomy valley below. ¶ But now the appalling din drew very near, and Big Tom realised with a sharp pang that the wild horses must have al- ready swept over his camp of the pre- vious night. What would happen when they reached the solid new hardwood four-railer that he had put up with so much trouble only a week before to mark the boundary of little Benny´s new domain ? ¶ The unuttered question was answered by a terrific crash as the whole squad- ron of maddened horses charged the ob- stacle and laid it level with the ground. ¶ Next instant the black stallion came into view leading the foremost of his following by a good fifty yards. With the hoof marks of the dead grey still printed on his ribs and flanks, and the marks of his enemy´s teeth still show- ing on the fore leg and shoulder, the black had received many additional stabs and gashes in that furious gallop through the big timber. His sable hide was torn from his body in strips. His breath came in loud sobs. Blood, mixed with foam, dropped from his mouth and nostrils. But his head wa° sup° and his crest was arched as, game to the end, he led his wild followers on their last gallop. ¶ They were all in desperate plight. Starting nearly four hundred strong at Boggy creek, they had lost fully one fourth of their number in the stampede. Penned in by others on either side, many of the horses had collided with huge trees, and been instantly killed. A deep and narrow watercourse on the side of Big Hill took heavy toll of the leading division. The bodies of the dead horses were found next day where they had bridged the chasm for those that came after them just as Ney´s cuirassiers bridged the sunken road of Ohain a hundred years earlier. The jagged teeth of a barbed wire fence had grievously wounded many and a few had dropped down dead from sheer ex- hautsion°. ¶ But still the survivors thundered on, impelled by some strange instinct to follow their leader till they fell. A magnificent chestnut, whose ancestors must certainly have been in the Stud Book, and whose sire and dam had with- out doubt carried silk jackets on the great racecourses of Australia, galloped doggedly on with all the spirit of his indomitable blood at the end of this terrible struggle. Yet his chest was transfixed by the sharp edge of a branch that had been smashed by one of the leaders, and the broken shaft was still embedded in the wound. Just be- hind him Tom Hardy saw a raw-boned brown, with four white stockings, and recognised him at once as his own old buggy horse of bygone days before the cheapening of the motor. The buggy horse had lost one eye, and a barbed wire fence had torn a fearful gash in his neck, but he was still able to gal- lop. ¶ It was the same with all of them. Not a horse had come through the wild gallop unscathed. Tom Hardy closed his eyes and Benny buried his face in his father´s waistcoat as the two gen- erations, the wild, mountain bred horses, who had never known the touch of man, and the old gaunt creatures that could remember having worn the badges of servitude long ago, rushed on to their doom together in the wake of the black stallion. ¶ The raging flood of maddened crea- tures swept over the top of the ridge and, swerving on either side of the big gum tree, poured in a closely compacted mass towards the edge of the abyss. ¶ The first to take the leap was the black stallion. He disdained to turn aside when at last he beheld the gulf opening at his feet. Springing into the air he was carried far out by the mo- mentum of his great pace, and slowly turning over, fell on his back upon the giant boulders two thousand feet below. Tom Hardy heard the thud. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER III. ¶ THE BLACK STALLION. ¶ “ Well, if you must come too, I suppose you must, ” grumbled old Silas Weldon, as Robins, the spry little soap-canvasser, helped him to pull out Bill Blake´s capacious run- about from the shed. ¶ It was a good hour before day- break, and Robins blew dismally on his chilled fingers. What an ass he Valley at all. The business to be done there wouldn`t pay expenses. Of that he was confident. And what a still greater ass he was to get up in the middle of the night in order to go shooting wild horses with a soured old brute like the decayed circus proprietor. Mr. Robins spat on the ground angrily. ¶ “ Wake up, Suds, ” growled old Sil- as. “ We wanter get ter Mount Bal- dy befare sun`s up, or the day `ll be wasted. ” ¶ Robins pushed furiously at the run- about. It had solid rubber tyres, and weighed nearly a ton. He could not move it out of the flimsy weatherboard shed. Silas was busy and could not assist. He had a bot- tle of rum in one hand and a bottle of milk in the other. First he rais- ed the rum bottle to his lips, and poured out a generous mouthful — ab- out a quarter of a pint — of the neat spirit. Then he despatched in pur- suit a “ chaser ” of fresh milk. The whole operation required his undivid- ual attention, and when he looked up again the runabout was still in the same place, and Mr. Robins, with purple gills and eyeballs protruding from their sockets, was pushing fruitlessly at the stolid machine. ¶ “ Get in an` drive her out, ” yelled Silas, following up his instruction with some curt remarks reminiscent of his early days — the kind of langu- age which he had often found effect- ive in dealing with a jibbing eleph- ant. ¶ Robins jumbed° into the runabout, which was throbbing and thumping in the shed, quite ready for the touch that was to start it forward. He gripped a lever and pulled it over. The massive car began to move — but backwards ! ¶ Rollins lost his head altogether then. There was a sound of rending and tearing as the car backed strai- ght through the rear wall of the shed, laying the entire end of the structure level with the ground and passing out with majestic uncon- cern. ¶ “ Nice kind of an article you are to take out on a ticklish job, I don`t think, ” remarked Mr. Weldon grimly, as he watched the frantic ef- forts of Mr. Robins to control the heavy runabout, which was running found in a circle backwards, while the amateur driver tried one lever after another in the hope of bringing it to reason. At last, however, the machine was under control, and Silas Weldon pushed Mr. Robins un- ceremoniously out of the driving seat and occupied it himself. ¶ “ I dunno about taking you, after all, ” he grunted. “ Ye`re jest the kind of loonatick to get us inter trouble. ” ¶ Robins was excited, dishevelled, and apologetic. He explained volu- bly that it was all the fault of the runabout. ¶ Silas cut short his apologies gruffly. “ Get in, ” he commanded. “ I s`pose I`ve gotter tale you now. You can explain it to Bill Blake ter- morrer. ” ¶ The “ loonattick, ” much subdued by his misadventure, put the two Win- chester rifles into the car without a word, then the sugar-bag full of cartridges, and last of all, the billy and the tucker basket. Silas sat im- patiently in the driving seat with the rum-bottle sticking out of ane capacious pocket of his ancient. over- coat, and the bottle of milk out of the other. ¶ “ `Urry up, young feller, ” he grow- ed. “ We gotter be at Boggy Creek at sunrise to ketch `em drinkin.` ” ¶ The runabout, like Whyte Melville´s famous old hunter, was a “ rum `un to look at, ” but “ a good `un to go, ” and Silas sent it along for all he was worth. They went over the broken ground at such a break-neck pace that Robins felt the teeth shaking in his jaws. They whizzed through a gap in the fence at the end of the paddock, jumped down a low bank jolted across the culvert, and rattled away over a dubious bush track in the direction of Boggy Creek, fifteen miles distant. ¶ “ The blamed old tin-kettle can move along fast enough when she likes, ” remarked Silas pleasantly, as the engines throbbed and thumped under their feet. “ She orter be doin` about twenty an hour now. ” ¶ Robins was being bounced up and down like a tennis ball while he held on to the back of the seat with one hand, and to the outer rail with the other. Every time the runabout hit a log she bucked like an outlaw, and the unhappy traveller was afraid to open his mouth lest he might bite his tongue in half. He was an ex- cellent listener while they were in the rough ground. ¶ “ Now, ” said the old man in grim tones, “ when it comes ter Boggy Creek, you just remember wot I tells yer, and mind you do it. This horse- huntin` ain`t as easy as peddlin` soap, an` don`t yer think it. Our only charnce is to ketch `em at the water, for, if they gets away inter the big bush where we can`t foller `em in this `ere sausage-machine, we`re done for the day, sonny, mind that. ” ‘° ¶ “ Wo-ho-hot are you go-ho-hoing ter dud-dud-do when wo gug-gug-get there ? ” inquired Mr. Robins between the bumps. ¶ “ Ye see, it`s this way, ” explained the wary old hunter. “ There`s two places on the Boggy Creek where them horses can come to the water an` ye can`t never tell which of `em it will be. One place is where the banks are low, near the log bridge clost against mad Mick Mahony´s, and the other is about two mile down stream where the creek opens out by the old stock road. The old grey mostly brings the mob along to the stock-road ford, but if the black stallion `appens to be in charge `e might lead `em to the crossin`, near the log bridge. I`m goin` to leave you at the log bridge — mind, I don`t say they`ll come there, an` I don`t even think they will, but it`s best to give `em no charnces — an` I`m goin` down in the runabout to wait at the stock road. Wot you`ve gotter do is to set quiet in the fork of the big gum on the other side of the crick with yer Winchester in yer `and, an` a pocketful of cartridges. The black stallion`s mighty tricky. If he winds yer at all `e won`t come within a mile of ye, but ef `e`s thinkin` of somethin` else as like as not he`ll bring his `ole bloomin` `arem along, an` you orter get a good charnce at `em. Ef ye can`t get a shot at the forehead aim just be`ind the shoulder, an` you`ll be right. But be cereful of the black. `E`s a man-eater orl right, an` if ye miss him don`t you come outer that tree wotever you do, or you`ll only be fit for the boiling-down works yerself. ” ¶ Mr. Robins experienced a sudden chill in the region of the spine, and also the sensation of well-marked nausea. Was it for this that he had got up at two in the morning and borne the objurgations of this terri- ble old man without telling him what he thought of him ? ¶ “ The black is the leader of a mob that gen`ally tallied about a `undred ” continued the old man, wagging his head reflectively, “ but there`ll be plenty more not far off. `E`s fought `is way right up to the head of the mob, an` ye can take it from me `e`s an orl right fighter. `E was born in the bush, an` so was `is sire an` dam before `im, and a trickier, wickeder, madder brute ye`ve never seen in yer natcheral. You just keep yer block, sonny, an` put a bullet plumb through his forehead ef ye can. But don`t ye go for to miss `im, be- cos it`s my belief `e`d climb the tree after ye. ” ¶ By this time Mr. Robins was rapid- ly getting into a condition in which he would have found it difficult to hit a cathedral at thirty paces. He on- ly just managed to stutter out his thanks for the honour that Mr. Wel- don purposed to confer upon him when Silas resumed his task of lightly outlining the forthcoming cam- paign. ¶ “ Ye see, ” said the old man, “ I gotter watch the stock road becos that`s where they gene`ally come when the ole grey is in charge. A nice ole cup er tea he is too. ’° `Im an` the black ain`t settled it yet which is ter be the boss. Anyhow that`s how I figger it out. They mostly `as a scrap whenever they meet. The old grey has got only one eye left, but `e stands about `arf a `and `igher than the black ; `is teeth are like a buzz-saw, and `e kicks like a quick-firer. In a scrap to a finish I ain`t sure which of `em I`d back, but, anyhow, I owe `im one for chasin` me about three miles in the runabout, with his mouth open, one evening larst week, when I`d dropped my gun. I ain`t looking` for a matinee performance of the same piece, and ye can bet good money on that. `Ullo, we`re clost up to it now. There`s a bit er pink light in the east, and there`s good old Boggy Creek too. ” ¶ It was a long speech for the ex- ringmaster, but Robins remembered every word of it. He began to con- jecture nervously that the old man would see him done to death. And when he was dead Silas no doubt would claim his scalp, and would send his remains to be boiled down for tallow. Pinching himself to make sure that he was still alive and also awake, the little soap dealer sought to nerve himself to make the great confession. ¶ He had never fired a gun of any sort in his whole life. ¶ What would Silas say when he heard that miserable admission ? Nay more. What would he probably do ? Little Robins saw himself in fancy already ejected from the run- about and left to face the onrush of the savage, wild horses, while Silas disappeared in a cloud of petrol- reek and soul-scaring imprecations. ¶ Perhaps it would be better not to tell him until after the day´s sport was over. And then the magnitude of his bag would doubtless alone for his apparent lack of frankness when he made the application to accom- pany the horse-hunter. Moral cour- age was not the strong point of Mr. Robins. His natural gift of fluency was no use to him here. In fact, he felt that his only safety lay in silence. ¶ The runabout caracoled joyously over the last bumpy mile that for med the approach to Boggy Creek. Mr. Robins was sick and sore and extremely frightened. His nervous- ness did not decrease when Silas brought the runabout to a. standstill at the edge of the creek and curtly ordered his mate to get out. ¶ As Robins stiffly descended from the car, grasping one of the Win- chesters awkwardly by the barrel, the sun was just rising. The hard bis- cuit that Silas produced from the tucker basket and handed to him almost choked him, but a tot of rum and milk in a tin pannikin stop- ped his teeth from chattering, and he was able to take stock of his surroundings. ¶ Boggy Creek turned out to be a for- midable young river with steep banks rising about twenty feet ab- ove the level of the water on both sides, except at the particular spot to which Silas had piloted the run- about. Here there was a practicable watering place, for the bank on the far side shelved gently down to the creek, and Robins remarked with trepidation that the mud bore un- mistakable signs of having been trampled by a large number of ani- mals. About a hundred yards higher up a couple of big logs had been thrown across the creek and formed a rough bridge. A thick growth of blackberry scrub and Bathurst burr clothed boths° banks, making the creek a formidable obstacle for any ani- mal wild or domesticated, to get across and difficult of access ev- en for drinking, except in the one particular spot. Apart from the blackberry scrub the ground near the creek was fairly open, but a few acacias and gums of moderate size grew within a score of yards of the creek, and one big fellow for- king within a few feet of the ground was quite climbable. ¶ “ Ye see how it is, ” said Silas, whose volubility was increasing un- der continued applications of rum and milk. “ Them blamed horses carn`t get across to this side of the crick at all. They gotter keep over on that side, an` you may guess wot sorter charnce we`d `ave of gettin` near `em in that God-for- saken bush. There`s yer tree. ” ¶ “ Have I gug-gug-gotter geg-geg-get up there this minnit ? ” enquired Ro- bins apprehensively. ¶ “ Cuck-cuck-course you `ave, ” mimic- ked the old man derisively. “ Y` ain`t scared, are ye ? ” ¶ Robins stoutly denied the accusa- tion — in a voice that entirely failed to carry conviction. ¶ “ An` if ye`ll take my advice, ” ad- ded Silas, “ ye`ll leave off holdin` that Winchester by the end of the bar —— Gee whizz ! ” ¶ There was a sharp report as a bullet hummed past Weldon´s ear and sped away into the immensities across the creek. The old man´s vo- cabulary failed him at the moment of direst need. He could only stare dumbly at Mr. Robins, who had tripped over a tussock and pitched head first into a blackberry bush, where he lay yelling for help. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ CHAPTER III. — THE BLACK STALLION. ¶ “ Well, if you must come too, I sup- pose you must, ” grumbled old Silas Weldon, as Robins, the spry little soap- canvasser, helped him to pull out Bill Blake´s capacious runabout from the shed. ¶ It was a good hour before daybreak, and Robins blew dismally on his chilled fingers. What an ass he had been to come down to Waratah Valley at all ! The business to be done there wouldn`t pay expenses. Most of the people he had seen never used soap. Of that he was confident. And what a still greater ass he was to get up in the middle of the night in order to go shooting wild horses with a soured old brute like the decayed circus proprietor. Mr. Robins spat on the ground angrily. ¶ “ Wake up, Suds, ” growled old Silas. “ We wanter get ter Mount Baldy be- fore sun`s up, or the day`ll be wasted. ” ¶ Robins pushed furiously at the run- about. It had solid rubber tyres, and weighed nearly a ton. He could not move it out of the flimsy weatherboard shed. Silas was busy and could not as- sist. He had a bottle of rum in one hand and a bottle of milk in the other. First he raised the rum bottle to his lips and poured out a generous mouth- ful — about a quarter of a pint — of the neat spirit. Then he despatched in pur- suit a “ chaser ” of fresh milk. The whole operation required his undivided atten- tion, and when he looked up again the runabout was still in the same place, and Mr. Robins, with purple gills and eyeballs protruding from their sockets, was pushing fruitlessly at the stolid ma- chine. ¶ “ Get in an` drive her out, ” yelled Silas, following up his instruction with some curt remarks reminiscent of his early days — the kind of language which he had often found effective in dealing with a jibbing elephant. ¶ Robins jumped into the runabout, which was throbbing and thumping in the shed, quite ready for the touch that was to start it forward. He gripped a lever and pulled it over. The massive car began to move — but backwards ! ¶ Robins lost his head altogether then. There was a sound of rending and tear- ing as the car backed straight through the rear wall of the shed, laying the en- tire end of the structure level with the ground and passing out with majestic unconcern. ¶ “ Nice kind of an article you are to take out on a ticklish job, I don`t think, ” remarked Mr. Weldon grimly, as he watched the frantic efforts of Mr. Robins to control the heavy runabout, which was running round in a circle backwards, while the amateur driver tried one lever after another in the hope of bringing it to reason. At last, however, the machine was under con- trol, and Silas Weldon pushed Mr. Robins unceremoniously out of the driv- ing seat and occupied it himself ! ¶ “ I dunno about taking you, after all, ” he grunted. “ Ye`re jest the kind of loonattick to get us inter trouble. ” ¶ Robins was excited, dishevelled, and apologetic. He explained volubly that it was all the fault of the runabout. ¶ Silas cut short his apologies gruffly. “ Get in, ” he commanded. “ I `spose I`ve gotter take you now. You can explain it to Bill Blake ter-morrer. ” ¶ The “ loonattick, ” much subdued by his misadventure, put the two Winches- ter rifles into the car without a word, then the sugar-bag full of cartridges, and, last of all, the billy and the tucker basket. Silas sat impatiently in the driving seat with the rum-bottle stick- ing out of one capacious pocket of his ancient overcoat, and the bottle of milk out of the other. ¶ “ `Urry up, young feller, ” he growled. “ We gotter be at Boggy Creek at sun- rise to ketch `em drinkin`. ” ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER IV. — ( Continued. ) ¶ THE BLACK STALLION. ¶ It was the same with all of them. Not a horse had come thro- ugh the wild gallop unscathed. Tom Hardy closed his eyes and Benny buried his face in his father´s waistcoat as the two generations, the wild, mountain-bred horses who had never known the touch of a man, and the old gaunt creatures that could remember having worn the badges of servitude long ago, rushed on to their doom together in the wake of the black stallion. ¶ The raging flood of maddened crea- tures swept over the top of the ridge and, swerving on either side of the big gum tree, poured in a closely-compacted mass towards the edge of the abyss. ¶ The first to take the leap was the black stallion. He disdained to turn aside when at last he beheld the gulf opening at his feet. Springing into the air he was carried far out by the momentum of his great pace, and slowly turning over, fell on his back upon the giant boulders two thousand feet below. Tom Hardy heard the thud. ¶ Three seconds later the main body of the stampeding horses reached the edge. Many tried to stop when it was too late, and showers of stones dislodged by the frantic hoofs went over into the abyss along with the struggling animals. Tom Hardy cau- ght a momentary glimpse of scrab- bling hoofs, bared grinning teeth, and glaring, terrified eyeballs. Then the living avalanche thundered over the precipice, and in a few more sec- onds the roaring, crashing din that that had been echoing through the hills was replaced by a still more, awe-in- spiring silence. ¶ Little Benny burst into tears, sob- ing convulsively on his father´s chest, while Tom, with white face and shaky hands, still stared out over the precipice. But for the friendly tree both he and the child must have been swept away by that terrible stampede, and either tramp- led into pulp or else carried over the abyss. Slowly and carefully the man descended the tree, carrying the child with him, till he reached the last foothold ten feet from the ground. Leaving the boy he leaped down himself and stood with out- stretched arms. ¶ “ Jump, Benny, jump ! ” called the man, and the little fellow launched himself into the air without hesita- tion, and reached the security of his father´s arms. How near he and Benny had been to death. A delay of even a few seconds more would have meant destruction. He would never have seen his wife again, and little Benny would never again have looked upon his mother. ¶ As the overwhelming wave of deep emotion and of thankfulness for the escape of himself and his child sur- ged through his whole being Tom, Hardy´s first thought turned to Alice, as the needle to the pole. He would see her again. He would look into her eyes and feel the touch of her hands. And he mentally resolv- ed to show his wife that he still loved her as deeply and ardently as in the first days of their married joy, and that his every effort would be devoted for the future to bright- ening her life and adding to her happiness. ¶ This was honest Tom Hardy´s dim conception of an acknowledgment and thanksgiving for his preservation from death. His wife occupied very much the same place in his mind that in orthodox minds is customar- ily reserved for the Deity. In this heart-searching moment which fol- lowed upon the extraordinary es- cape of himself and his little son he only vowed to worship his wife more faithfully and more constantly in the future. And then he dried little Benny´s eyes with his handkerchief and sat still while he considered the situation, for he felt too much sha- ken to do any more work that day. ¶ It was thus that Mr. Cassidy found them as he soared overhead, a prey to the most poignant an- xiety. ¶ Circling round to avoid the trees, he alighted dexterously on the nar- row belt of land between the big timber and the edge of the preci- pice. ¶ “ Shure `tis a heavy load I have off me chist this minuit. Tom Hardy, ” he began, as he loosened the buttons of his tunic, “ for be this an` be that I niver expicted to see ye agin this side uv Hivin. ” ¶ And then while little Benny listen- ed open-mouthed and Tom, leaning forward, drank in every word, Mr. Cassidy told his moving tale. ¶ “ Whin I riz up to leave ye, ” he said, “ I sez to meself, ‘ Cassidy, ’ sez I, ‘ remimber that ye are a man, ’ sez I, ‘ though the Guv`ment is thry- in` to make a burrd uv ye, ’ sez I, ‘ an` don`t be goin`' back this day on- til ye`ve found ould Weldon, an` that deludherin` little soap-peddler that`s wid him, ’ sez I. So I gave the jigger a touch an` away we wint headin` for the Black Moun- tain. It`s wondherful phwhat ye can see whin ye`re up above there. Share an aygle is only a short- sighted burrd compared wid a throoper from the County Clare, an` prisintly I seen the Boggy Creek lookin` for all the wurruid like a dhurty bit uv a shtrap, an` be the side uv it Bill Blake´s ould, rid run- about. ‘ Oh-ho, ’ sez I, ‘ now I`m gettin` warrum, ’ sez I, and wid that I come down another two or t`ree hundred feet. I cud see ould Weldon settin` down be the runabout, an` him wid two impty bottles in front uv himo anj yellin` at the peddler like he was possessed. “ Ye dhrunk me milk, ’ sez he, ‘ an` ye dhrunk me rum, ’ sez he, ‘ an` ye knocked down Bill Blake´s shtable, ’ sez he, ‘ an` `ye stampeded the harses, ’ sez he, ‘ an` if it wuzn`t for me bunions, ’ sez he, ‘ I`d kick ye from here to Boorigal. ’ The little felly wuz dancin` about, excited like, houldin` a Winchester rifle be the ind uv the barr`l, and I hard him say, “ If ye lay a fut on me, ’ sez he, ‘ I`ll shoot ye, ’ sez he. So I just dhrops down bechune thim an` grabs the gun, and I sez, ‘ Move on now, move on plaze, no loitherin` allowed be the Boggy Creek, ’ an` wid that ould Weldon jumps up like as if I wuz a new kind uv jimjam, and climbs inter the runabout, an` the peddler wid him, an` away they wint for Waratah Valley as if the divil himself, savin` his prisince wuz afther thim. An` that wuz the last I seen uv the harse hunters. ” ¶ Tom Hardy´s mouth puckered into a smile in spite of his own harrow- ing experiences. ¶ “ Did you see the horses, Cassidy ? ”° he asked quietly. ¶ “ Indade, I did, ” replied the troop- er, “ an`, bedad, it was a quare race intirely. I wanted to get here to warrun ye whin I seen thim hittin` out for Big Hill, but they had a long shtart on me an` I was laps behind from the wurred` ‘ Go.. ’ I riz up first to about a tousan` feet, but I shtruck a contrairy air current, an` had to come back agin to the t`ree hundred fut, an` thin the mur- dherin` divil reneged on me. ” ¶ “ How was that, Cassidy ? ” ¶ “ I disremimber exactly, an` that`s the thruth I`m tellin` ye, but anny way I hard a crack behknd me like the crack uv a stockwhip, an` the nex` thing I knew I come down, t`ree hundred fut fashter`n I iver come downshtairs befure, on top uv mad Mick Mahoney´s shtack uv hay. An` the jigger on top ouv me, be all the powers ! Her near side wuz blown out uv j`int be a gusht uv win`, but I tied it up wid me boot lace an` got goin` agin off uv the top uv the shtack uv hay. Shure I had no chanst at all at all to ketch up wid the shtampede, an` the black bet me home be a broken neck. I cud see thim a`tearin` the threes down wid their teeth, an` t`rowin` up all the jayology in the dishtrict wid the hoofs uv `em as they wint up into the Big Hill, an` yit I dursn`t put the jigger out uv an aisy canter in case she might fall to pieces under me. But any way, I kep` me eye on `em, an` man, `twuz a grand sight intirely whin they come to yer bit uv lan` be the top ur the hill. ” ¶ “ Did they break anything, Cassi- dy ? ” ¶ “ They did, Misther Hardy, sor. Shure they bruk iverything. The black shtailion he went, into that section, an` out uv ut agin like a circus harse jumpin` t`rough a pa- per hoop — an` about free hundred uv his mates afther him. I seen wan wheel uv the big lorry shtuck in a blackbutt tree, an` a bit uv the buzz-saw hangin` up next dure, but the tint wuzn`t there at all at all, onless they ate it, an` I disremimber seein` anny- thing uv thim little whiggly-gigg- lies that druv the buzz-saw, ayth- er. ” ¶ Tom Hardy learned in this round- about fashion that the result of six months´ savings had been swept away by the visitation. Another shock for poor Alice. But still he could replace the plant by econo- mising a bit in some other direc- tion. Tom was an incurable optim- ist — luckily for him. ¶ “ I wuz comin` along shtraight be- hind thim, ” continued Mr. Cassidy, “ an` I seen `em as plain as the nose on yer face, whin the new four-rail fince shtud up in front uv `em. Faix, the fince ni'ver had a chanst wid `em. It wint up in the air same as a newspaper in a high win`, an` ye can belave me or not, but I t`ink `tis thravellin` yit. I seen `em shweep pasht ye up in the tree same as the say shweeps pasht a lighthouse, and then I seen the black stallion give his lasht lep, an` the whole t`ree hundred drivin` af- ther him like the pigs in the Good Book that Father Doolan larned me whin I wuz a bit uv a boneen mesilf, God rest his sowl. ” ¶ Mr. Cassidy removed his helmet in order to mop his overheated brow, and he forthwith began the discussion of certain matters of necessary procedure in relation to the recent happening, which was uni- que in his experience. He produced his official notebook and made ‘ a rough calculation, showing that three hundred 'horse-scalps at five shillings apiece would return the respectable sum of £75, and that as nobody could get the scalps ex- cept by flying down for them and flying back again, it was obvious that Providence intended the wind- fall for him, unless that blaggard, Bert Milligan, who was the only ot- her flying man in the district, came and shtole a marrch on him. ” ¶ Tom Hardy listened to all this, and much more besides, with exem- plary patience. Then Cassidy rever- ted for a moment to some personal aspects of the momentous event. For instance, under the special pro- visions of the Population Encour- agement Act, the holders of birth- right sections were compelled to clear agricultural sections of all heavy timber within a specified per- iod, under severe penalties, and the local officer of police was made the authority for enforcing the provi- sions. ¶ “ I`'ll be havin` to give ye another t`ree munts, belike, for clearin` the timber, Mr. Hardy, ” said -he troo- per in his best official tone, “ see- in` as how the buzz-saw is bruk to pieces an` the whiggly-gigglies is losht intirely. Ye`ll be able to get iverv tree down be that time, I ex- pict. ” ¶ “ No, by Heavens, I will not, ” cried Tom Hardy, starting to his feet and standing bolt upright, with one hand on little Benny´s curly head. “ There`s one tree here that shall never be cut down as long as there`s a breath on my body. And that`s the tree that has saved my child´s life and mine. ´ ¶ ( To be Continued. ) ¶ —————————— ¶ The attempt to combine vigorous health and clear headwork by means of spasmodic bursts of exercise snatched after office hours is, accor- ding to a London physician, Dr. Alexander Bryce, in nine cases out of ten, bound to result in chronic seediness, if not in complete collapse.

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ THE GREAT STAMPEDE. ¶ CHAPTER IV. — ( Continued. ) ¶ Tom Hardy geared up the buzz-saw. fixed the motors, one on each side of a regular “ old man ” blue gum, and retired to a convenient distance to smoke his pipe, taking Benny with him. The buzzing went on sooth- ingly for five or six minutes, and then it was interrupted by an earth shaking crash, as the huge tree, 250 feet high and nearly 12 feet in diameter, toppled over, cutting a wide swath in the smaller timber that it encountered in its fall. ¶ Benny clapped his hands with de- light. He ran off to inspect the fallen monarch, and, when he got back again, he found Mr. Cassidy, the trooper from Waratah Valley, in earnest conversation with his father. Benny evinced no surprise at the sudden appearance of the visi- tor. Mr. Cassidy had literally dropped from the clouds, and his handy little aeroplane was standing by the log on which he and Tom Hardy sat. ¶ “ She`s right enough whin ye git used to her, Mr. Cassidy was say- ing, “ but the harse wuz handier for the short thrips at anny rate. ” He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “ Shtill I`m not sayin` annything against her at all, ” he added hurriedly as though determin- ed to give no offence to his new means of conveyance. “ An` shure if ye treat her right she`s the quitest° little thing that ever ye laid yer leg over. ” ¶ “ But what brings you out here at this hour of the mornin` ? ” demand- ed Tom Hardy. “ Big Hill is a bit off° of° yer beat, isn`t it? ” ¶ “ It is, so, ” replied Mr. Cassidy, but Bill Blake wuz aroun` to my place an hour agone, an` he sez, ‘ Cassidy, ’ sez he, ‘ ould Weldon is gone off, sez he, ‘ wid thot delud- herin` little omadhaun uv a soap seller, ’ sez he, ‘ an` be this and be that, the pair av thim hov druv me runabout clane t`rough the ind uv me shtable, ’ sez he, ‘ the saints be bechune us and harrum ! ’ ” ¶ “ Well, what matter if old Weldon has taken a drop too much ? ” re- plied the unsympathetic listener. “ He knows his way about these ranges better when he`s drunk than anybody else in the district when sober. ” ¶ “ I`m not sayin` that ould Weldon can`t look after himself among, har- ses, ” said Mr. Cassidy. “ Shure, he ought to be able to, anny way, an` him bein` nearly kilt intirely by them whin he wuz in the business. But it`s the dhurty little peddler thot I`m afeard about. Shure he don`t know wan ind uv a harse from the other, an` if the black stallion ketches him he`ll ate him as aisy as I`m afther atin` me breakfast. ” ¶ “ But the wild horses are probably a hundred miles away from here, back in the ranges. They haven`t been seen in this part of the coun- try for weeks. ” ¶ “ That`s what you do be t`inkin, Tom, but ye`re wrong, ne° bhoy, an` more`s the pity. ¶ Mr. Cassidy´s clean-shaven face, with the obstinate little eyes set close together, the short nose, long upper lip, and straight, wide, rat- trap mouth wore an expression of marked anxiety. “ Shure I hard th` devils° meself not an hour agone, ” he added, “ an thim shquealin` an` fightin` somewhere out by mad Mick Mahoney´s like all possessed. I just dhropped in to warrun ye as I wuz passin` by overhid, an` I`ll be joggin` along now to thry if I can see ould Silas an` the peddler. Shure it`s wonderful how aisy it is to see anny one whin ye are walkin` yer bate up in the air. An` mind now what I`m tellin` ye. Do yerself an` little Tom kape well out uv the road uv the black stallion, for the country ain`t safe while he`s about at all at at all. ” ¶ Mr. Cassidy accepted a fill of Tom´s tobacco for his pipe. Then he adjusted his helmet, buttoned his tunic, felt round to see that his handcuffs were in position under- neath it, in accordance with the regulations, and mounted his Gov- ernment monoplane. He waved good-bye as he rose above the tops of the gums, and Tom returned to his work with an unaccustomed sense of impending danger. ¶ “ Coo-ee — coo-ee ! Benn-ee ! ” Where on earth had the child got to. Har- dy was in a fever of nervous appre- hension. While he was talking to the trooper the child had strayed away, and it was necessary to go in search of him at once. In that wild country a youngster might very soon be lost irretrievably. ¶ The father´s thoughts flew at once to “ Ryan´s Leap, ” a huge abyss — named after some forgotten bush- ranger — that opened where ordinar- ily one would have expected to find a saddle connecting Big Hill with its neighbour Mount Baldy. Some mysterious convulsion of nature in the remote past had cut out the connecting ridge as cleanly as though it had been done with a gigantic buzz-saw, and left a sheer drop of nearly two thousand feet into the valley below. ¶ Tom Hardy dashed away through the scrub coo-ee-ing loudly as he went. But there was no reply. Sick with fear he raced for Ryan´s Leap, and, emerging from the light timber scanned the edge of the abyss. ¶ No sign of the child. ¶ Peering over the sheer descent Hardy sent his gaze into the valley below. It was a fearful depth. The time-worn striated cliff sides were gigantic prison walls closing in the valley, from which there appeared to be no exit. A thin stream of water leaped from the opposite cliff- face, but was resolved into mist before it reached half way to the bottom. Far underneath the gazer were enormous boulders that had been loosened by the disintegrating rains and winds and had fallen from above with hollow thunders that reverberated through the unimagined silence of the valley long before the advent of the white man. Over all the space enclosed by the perpendi- cular cliffs that jutted out irregular- ly round the opening was spread the eternal blue-green carpet of the euc- alyptus. ¶ With a shudder, Tom Hardy turned from the yawning gulf, and began a systematic search of the top of the cliff on which he stood. Before he had gone fifty yards a bright gleam of sunlight came through the trees and irradiated little Benny, who lay fast asleep within a few feet of the abyss. ¶ Big Tom seized the child and clasped him in his arms, and as Benny awoke and smiled, the rejoi- cing father covered him with kiss- es. ¶ As he was still kissing the bewild- ered little lad and fondling his shin- ing curls a low sound like thunder broke on Tom Hardy´s ears. He looked up at the sky in perplexity. It was blue and cloudless. But the low thunder in the distance con- tinued. It seemed even to grow gradually louder. Was it only his fancy, or could he really detect a tremor of the earth ? Then big Tom´s face blanched and holding little Benny in his arms he started back for the camp. ¶ But it was too late. ¶ Louder and louder roared the con- tinuous thunder under that blue and cloudless sky. The crashing and rending of timber could be plainly heard, mingled with screams of terror and agony as here and there one of the wild horses was im- paled on a sharp, protruding branch or crushed to death against an un- yielding giant of the bush. ¶ Benny began to cry, but big Tom´s brain was equal to the emer- gency. There was only one way of safety, and he took it. ¶ Twenty yards away from where he stood with the child in his arms was a mighty gum tree offering nubbly footholds near the ground, and branching out on either side a little higher up. Big Tom placed little Benny astride on his should- ers, and fairly hurled himself at the gum tree. In less than half a minute he was seated securely on a magnificent limb thirty feet above the ground, with little Benny be- side him. The mighty trunk had a circumference of fully thirty feet at the base, and it towered aloft in to the blue like some magnificent Gothic spire that points the way to Heaven. Its firm base was like a rock that had already defied the storms of centuries. And well might it defy one storm more. The great tree was placed on the highest point of the ridge, and, from his perch, on the cross branch, Tom Hardy could look over the sheer de- clivity of Ryan´s Leap scarcely a dozen yards away, and down into the gloomy valley below. ¶ But now the appaling° din drew very near, and Big Tom realised with a sharp pang that the wild horses must have already swept over his camp of the previous night. What would happen when they reach- ed the solid new hardwood four- railer that he had put up with so much trouble only a week before to mark the boundary of little Benny´s new domain ? ¶ The unuttered question was ans- wered by a terrific crash as the whole double squadron of maddened horses charged at the obstacle and laid it level with the ground. ¶ Next instant the black stallion came into view leading the foremost of his followers by a good fifty yards With the hoof marks of the dead grey still printed on his ribs and flanks, and the marks of his enemy´s teeth still showing on the fore leg and shoulder, the black had received many additional stabs and gashes in that furious gallop through the big timber. His breath came in loud sobs. Blood, mixed with foam dropped from his mouth and nostrils. But his head was up and his crest was arched as, game to the end he led his wild followers on their last gallop. ¶ They were all in desperate plight. Starting nearly four hundred strong at Boggy Creek, they had lost fully one-fourth of their number in the stampede. Penned in by others on either side, many of the horses had collided with huge trees, and been instantly, killed. A deep and nar- row water course on the side of Big Hill took heavy toll of the lead- ing division. The bodies of the dead horses were found next day where they had bridged the chasm for those that came after them just as Ney´s cuirassiers bridged the sunken road of Ohain a hundred years earlier. The jagged teeth of a barbed wire fence had grievously wounded many, and a few had dropped down dead from sheer exhaustion. ¶ But still the survivors thundered on impelled by some strange instinct to follow their leader till they fell. A magnificent chestnut, whose ancest- ors must certainly have been in the Stud Book, and whose sire and dam had without doubt carried silk jack- ets on the great racecourses of Aus- tralia, galloped doggedly on with all the spirit of his indomitable blood at the end of this terrible struggle. Yet his chest was transfixed by the sharp edge of a branch that had been smashed by one of the leaders, and the broken shaft was still embedded in the wound. Just behind him Tom Hardy saw a raw-boned brown, with four white stockings, and re- cognised him at once as his own old buggy horse of bygone days before the cheapening of the motor. The buggy horse had lost one eye, and a barbed wire fence had torn a fear- ful gash in his neck, but he was still able to gallop. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER IV. — ( Continued. ) ¶ GATHERING CLOUDS. ¶ Alice was preoccupied all tea time. She could not listen to Tom as he methodically recounted the various wickednesses of the poley cow and the accidents that had befallen Cas- sidy in the course of his attempts to fly down to the bottom of Ryan´s Leap and back again with the scalps of the defunct brumbies. She could not even pay attention to little Benny, who was pestering her with a view to finding out whether bacon was good for opossums, and why they squeaked when yok° pinched them round the waist. She was back in the past once more, and she was half dreaming that the future might be “ only the past again — entered through another gate. ” ¶ “ Shop ! Shop ! ” The rattling of a stick on the front counter broke in upon her reverie, and she hurried away into the store to serve the im- patient customer. ¶ He proved to be a tall, lean man with a week´s growth of beard on his face. He bought a huge quantity of stores — bacon and flour, tea and coffee, biscuits and sugar, jam and condensed milk. He half emptied the store of its contents, and then he called out to two other men who were waiting in a motor runabout {outside, to come in. They carried all the packages into the runabout,} and the tall man pulled out a cheque book and paid the account, which ran into a considerable sum. ¶ “ Will you be wanting anything fur- ther presently ? ” inquired Mrs. Har- dy, wondering idly who her new cus- tomer could be. ¶ “ Not till next week, ” replied the customer. “ By the way, are there any letters here for me — Pascoe, of the railway construction camp on Big Hill. ” ¶ No, there were no letters. Mrs. Hardy took the stranger´s instruc- tions to retain all his correspond- ence, which would be called for. ¶ “ I`m in charge of the contractors´ construction gang about eight miles from here, ” he explained. “ We`re building the bridge for the monorail extension from Bottlebrush. ” ¶ With a polite “ Good evening ” he left the store and buzzed away in the runabout through the gathering darkness. ¶ So it was really true. In a few months´ time the new line would be laid, and Bert Milligan would be transferred to some distant part of the State, perhaps even to some ot- her part of the Commonwealth. While the prospect of the monorail was only being talked about Alice Hardy scarcely realised what the new condi- tion of things would mean for her. But now that it had been forced un- der her notice in concrete shape it came home to her with full force. After all, the dark-browed mailman had counted for something in life. The probability that he would soon drop out of it altogether gave her a distinct shock — much as she loved her husband and her child. And then the old haunting fear stole into her mind, and refused to be banished. Did Tom Hardy really love her, or had he been ensnared by somebody else — somebody younger and gayer than herself, somebody not very far away whom he saw and talked with daily ? ¶ The hateful doubt flushed her cheek with outraged pride and mortifica- tion and honest-hearted Tom Hardy was amazed when he went into the store to find her in tears, for which she could give no explanation. ¶ “ Come, now, little girl, ” he said, as he took her hands in his, “ you`ve been doing too much lately. We`ll have to send you away for a bit of a change. How would you like to go up to the mountains for a month with Benny while I stay at home and run the business ? ” ¶ Alice drew her hand away sharply her suspicions deepening. Why did he want to send her away ? So that he might —— Oh, it was too hard, too hard. She compressed her lips and declared that there was nothing the matter with her. Now she would certainly refuse to be sent away to the mountains or anywhere else. She went back to the little sitting room behind the store more preoccupied than ever, and Tom Hardy was left wondering what strange fancies were expressing her. ¶ Truly “ the real distances of life are in ourselves — the distance that sepa- rates husband and wife, for in- stance. ” ¶ Next day when Bert Milligan arri- ved with the mails Alice was in the post office. She greeted the mailman with a sad little smile that made his heart bound. ¶ “ It seems months since I`ve seen you, Bert, ” she said. “ Tell me how you are getting on. ” ¶ Bert kept, himself well in hand. He was determined not to frighten her again. He told her quietly of all his experiences ; how well “ Black Swan ” was flying ; and how with the new en- gine that had been put into her he could now easily rise to 3000 feet. Then he told her about the new con- struction camp at Big Hill. Pascoe, who was in charge, was a very de- cent sort of chap. Pascoe had told him that the Department expected to have the single line laid and the gyro-cars running inside of four mon- ths. The Chief Commissioner, who was an engineer himself, was very anxious to get the job completed as soon as possible. ¶ Inside of four months ! Bert felt something like a real stab in his heart as he thought of it. Was he to say good-bye for ever to this idol of his wild dreams inside of four months ? He tried to beat down the longing in his eyes and to curb the madness in his heart as he talked to Alice in the stuffy little post office with its tin roof and dusty window panes, but he was only half success- ful, and his hand was shaking as he tried to murmur a careless “ So long ” when he had to go. ¶ “ S`pose you won`t be here to- morrow, will you, Alice ? ” he asked, hesitatingly, as he stood with his hand on the door handle. ¶ “ Oh, yes, I think so, Bert, ” was Mrs. Hardy´s reply in a voice from which all signs of emotion were care- fully excluded. “ Tom has to go up to Big Hill in the morning, and it`s likely he won`t be home in time to take the mails. ” ¶ And so they parted. ¶ But the old feeling that she knew so well was back again, and she rea- lised almost with a pang of terror that she did not even wish to quench it. Her intuition told her that in spite of her long silence Bert´s mad passion was unchanged. ¶ Next day when the mailman came she was mistress of herself again, and Bert Milligan, who had been rais- ed to the seventh heaven by her gentle sympathy, was thrust back once more into the depths of depres- sion. She was politely interested in all that he said but no more. Calm and self-possessed, she talked to him on the safe, footing of old acquaint- anceship. ¶ Still the new habit of the daily meeting was definitely formed, and each day that passed made it more and more difficult to break the light chain that bound them. Alice Hardy felt herself slipping back steadily towards the old perilous relations. She “ saw what was good and ap- proved of it, ” but she “ followed that which was worse. ” ¶ Often in the night as she lay awake with Tom sleeping beside her she asked herself with a thrill, half of joy and half of terror, where was it all to end. ¶ One morning when she was alone in the store Joe Peterson shuffled in with one eye as usual directed to- wards the ceiling and the other fur- tively endeavouring to avoid the direct gaze of the person to whom he was addressing himself. ¶ “ Well, what do you want ? ” enquir- ed Mrs. Hardy, her grey eyes flash- ing ominously. ¶ “ Jest a plug of the same ole brand, ” said Peterson, laying his sixpence on the counter, “ an` a bit er civility with it ef it`s orl the same ter you, Mrs. Hardy. ” ¶ He sat down on the old battered chair, rested one elbow on the coun- ter and glared with an altogether new and strange defiance at a tin of kerosene that stood almost at right angles to the line of normal vision. ¶ “ How dare you speak to me like that, you cur, ” said the angry wo- man, stamping her foot furiously. “ You behave yourself, Joe Peter- son, or you`ll get no tobacco here. ” ¶ “ Oh-ho ! so that`s the way you think you`re goin` ter talk ter me, is it ? ” retorted Joe. “ Ye`d best be careful, my girl, or ye`ll be sorry for yersell — an` soon enough, too. ” ¶ “ If you dare to speak another word to me, I`ll call my husband to throw you out of the place Joe Peterson, and give you what he gave you once before, ” said Mrs. Hardy, with sup- pressed passion. ¶ “ Oh, no you won`t, ” replied Joe, with an irritating drawl. “ Besides, yer can`t bluff me. Tom`s up at Big Hill. I saw him going off a cou- ple of hours ago. An` yer ain`t go- in` to tell `im ter throw me out when `e comes back neither. ” ¶ “ There`s your tobacco ; now, go ! ” ¶ “ Not me. I`m too com`fable `ere just at present. ” Joe took a knife from his pocket and proceeded to cut a fill of tobacco with aggravat- ing deliberation. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER IV. — THE GREAT STAM- PEDE. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ “ Did you see the horses, Cassidy ? ” he asked quietly. ¶ “ Indade, I did, ” replied the trooper, “ an`, bedad, it was a quare race intirely. I wanted to get here to warrun ye whin I seen thim hittin` out for Big Hill, but they had a long shtart on me an` I was laps behind from the worrud ‘ Go. ’ I riz up first to about a tousan` feet, and I shtruck a contrairy air current, an` had to come back agin to the t`ree hundred fut`, an` thin the murdherin` divil re- neged on me. ” ¶ “ How was that, Cassidy ? ” ¶ “ I disremimber exactly, an` that`s the thruth I`m tellin` ye, but anny way I hard a crack behind me like the crack uv a shtockwhip, an` the nex` thing I knew I come down t`ree hundred fut fashter`n I iver come downshtairs be- fure, on top uv mad Mick Mahony´s shtack uv hay. An` the jigger on top uv me, be all the powers ! Her near side wuz blown out uv j`int be a gusht uv win`, but I tied it up wid me boot lace an` got goin` agin off uv the top uv the shtack uv hay. Shure I had no chanst at all at all to ketch up wid the shtam- pede, an` the black bet me home be a broken neck. I cud see thim a-tearin` the threes down wid their teeth, an` t`rowin` up all the jayology in the dis- trict wid the hoofs uv `em as they wint up into the Big Hill, an` yit I dursn`t put the jigger out uv an aisy canter in case she might fall to pieces undher me. But annyway, I kep` me eye on em, an`, man, `twuz a grand sight intirely whin they come to yer bit uv lan` be the top uv the hill. ” ¶ “ Did they break anything, Cassidy ? ” ¶ “ They did, Misther Hardy, sor. Shure they bruk iverything. The black shtallion he wink into that section, an` out uv ut agin like a circus harse jump- in` t`rough a paper hoop — an` about t`ree hundred uv his mates afther him. I seen wan wheel uv the big lorry shtuck in a blackbutt tree, an` a bit uv the buzz-saw hangin` up next dure, but the tint wuzn`t there at all at all, onless they ate it, an` I disremember seein` annything uv thim little whiggly-gigg- lies that druv the buzz-saw, ayther. ” ¶ Tom Hardy learned in this roundabout fashion that the result of six months´ savings had been swept away by the visi- tation. Another shock for poor Alice. But still he could replace the plant by economising a bit in some other direc- tion. Tom was an incurable optimist — luckily for him. ¶ “ I wuz comin` shtraight behind thim, ” continued Mr. Cassidy, “ an` I seen `em as plain as the nose on yer face, whin the new four-rail fince shtud up in front uv `em. Faix, the fince niver had a chanst wid `em. It wint up in the air same as a newspaper in a high win`, `an ye can belave me or not, but I t`ink `tis thravellin` yit. I seen `em shweep pasht ye up in the tree same as the say shweeps pasht a lighthouse, and then I seen the black shtallion give his lasht lep. an` the whole t`ree hundcrd divin` afther him like the pigs in the Good Book that Father Doolan larned me whin I wuz a bit uv a boneen mesilf, God rest his sowl. ” ¶ Mr. Cassidy removed his helmet in order to mop his overheated brow, and he forthwith began the discussion of cer- tain matters of necessary procedure in relation to the recent happening, which was unique in his experience. He pro- duced his official notebook and made a rough calculation, showing that three hundred horse`scalps at five shillings apiece would return the respectable sum of £75, and that as nobody could get the scalps except by flying down for them and flying back again, it was ob- vious that Providence intended the windfall for him, unless “ that blaggard, Bert Milligan, who was the only other flying man in the dishtrict, came and shtole a marrch on him. ” ¶ Tom Hardy listened to all this, and much more besides, with exemplary pa- tience. Then Cassidy reverted for a moment to some personal aspects of the momentous event. For instance, under the special provisions of the Population Encouragement Act, the holders of birthright sections were compelled to clear agricultural sections of all heavy timber within a specified period, under severe penalties, and the local officer of police was made the authority for en- forcing the provisions. ¶ “ I`ll be havin` to give ye another t`ree munts, belike, for clearin` the timber, Mr. Hardy, ” said the trooper in his best-official tone, “ seein` as how the buzz-saw is bruk to pieces an` the whiggly-gigglies is losht intirely. Ye`ll be able to got ivery tree down be that time, I expict. ” ¶ “ No, by Heavens, I will not, ” cried Tom Hardy, starting to his feet and standing bolt upright, with one hand on little Benny´s curly head. “ There`s one tree here that shall never be cut down as long as there`s a breath in my body. And that`s the tree that has saved my child´s life and mine. ”

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER IV. — THE GREAT STAM- PEDE. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ Mr. Cassidy´s clean-shaven face, with the obstinate little eyes set close to- gether, the short nose, long upper lip, and straight, wide, rat-trap mouth wore an expression of marked anxiety. “ Shure I hard th` divils meself not an hour agone, ” he added, “ an thim shquealin` an` fightin` somewhere out by mad Mick Mahony´s like all possessed. I just dhropped in to warrun ye as I wuz passin` by overhid, an` I`ll be joggin` along now to thry if I can see ould Silas an` the peddler. Shure it`s wonderful how aisy it is to see anny one whin ye are walkin` yer bate up in the air. An` mind now what I`m tellin` ye. Do yer self an` little Tom kape well out uv the road uv the black shtallion, for the country ain`t safe while he`s about at all at all. ” ¶ Mr. Cassidy accepted a fill of Tom´s tobacco for his pipe. Then he adjusted his helmet, buttoned his tunic, felt round to see that his handcuffs were in position underneath it, in accordance with the regulations, and mounted his Government monoplane. He waved good-bye as he rose above the tops of the gums, and Tom returned to his work with an unaccustomed sense of impend- ing danger. ¶ “ Coo-ee — Coo-ee ! Benn-ee ! Benn-ee ! ” Where on earth had the child got to. Hardy was in a fever of nervous appre- hension. While he was talking to the trooper the child had strayed away, and it was necessary to go in search of him at once. In that wild country a young- ster might very soon be lost irretriev- ably. ¶ The father´s thoughts flew at once to “ Ryan´s Leap, ” a huge abyss — named after some forgotten bushranger — that opened where ordinarily one would have expected to find a saddle connecting Big Hill with its neighbor Mount Baldy. Some mysterious convulsion of nature in the remote past had cut out the connect- ing ridge as cleanly as though it had been done with a gigantic buzz-saw, and left a sheer drop of nearly two thousand feet into the valley below. ¶ Tom Hardy dashed away through the scrub coo-ee-ing loudly as he went. But there was no reply. Sick with fear he raced for Ryan´s Leap, and, emerging from the light timber, scanned the edge of the abyss. ¶ No sign of the child. ¶ Peering over the sheer descent Hardy sent his gaze into the valley below. It was a fearful depth. The time-worn, striated cliff sides were gigantic prison walls dosing in the valley, from which there appeared to be no exit. A thin stream of water leaped from the oppo- site cliff-face, but was resolved into mist before it reached half way to the bot- tom. Far underneath the gazer were enormous boulders that had been loosen- ed by the disintegrating rains and winds and had fallen from above with hollow thunders that reverberated through the unimagined silence of the valley long before the advent of the white man. Over all the space enclosed by the per- pendicular cliffs that jutted out irregu- larly round the opening was spread the eternal blue-green carpet of the eucalyp- tus. ¶ With a shudder Tom Hardy turned from the yawning gulf, and began a systematic search of the top of the cliff on which he stood. Before he had gone fifty yards a bright gleam of sunlight came through the trees and irradiated. little Benny, who lay fast asleep within a few feet of the abyss. ¶ Big Tom seized the child and clasped him in his arms, and as Benny awoke and smiled, the rejoicing father covered him with kisses. ¶ As he was kissing the bewildered litle° lad and fondling his shining curls a low sound like thunder broke on Tom Hardy´s ears. He looked up at the sky in perplexity. It was blue and cloud- less. But the low thunder in the dis- tance continued. It seemed even to grow gradually louder. Was it only his fancy, or could he really detect a tremor in the earth ? Then big Tom´s face blanched, and holding litle° Benny in his arms he started back for the camp. ¶ But it was too late. ¶ Louder and louder roared the con- tinuous thunder under that blue and cloudless sky. The crashing and rend- ing of timber could be plainly heard, mingled with screams of terror and agony as here and there one of the wild horses was impaled on a sharp, protrud- ing branch, or crushed to death against an unyielding giant of the bush. ¶ Benny began to cry, but big Tom´s brain was equal to the emergency. There was only one way of safety, and he took it. ¶ Twenty yards away from where he stood with the child in his arms was a mighty gum tree offering nubbly foot- holds near the ground, and branching out on either side a little higher up. Big Tom placed little Lenny astride on his shoulders, and fairly hurled himself at the gum tree. In less than half a minute he was seated securely on a mag- nificent limb thirty feet above the ground, with little Benny beside him. The mighty trunk had a circumference of fully thirty feet at the base, and it towered aloft into the blue like some magnificent Gothic spire that points the {way to Heaven. Its firm base was like} way to Heaven. Its firm base was like a rock that had already de- fied the storms of centuries. And well might it defy one storm more. The great tree was placed on the highest point of the ridge, and, from his perch on the cross branch, Tom Hardy could look over the sheer de- clivity of Ryan´s Leap scarcely a dozen yards away, and down into the gloomy valley below. ¶ But now the appalling din drew very near, and Big Tom realised with a sharp pang that the wild horses must have already swept over his camp of the pre- vious night. What would happen when they reached the solid new hardwood four-railer that he had put up with so much trouble only a week before to mark the boundary of little Benny´s new domain ? ” ¶ The unuttered question was answered by a terrific crash as the whole double squadron of maddened horses charged the obstacle and laid it level with the ground. ¶ Next instant the black stallion came into view leading the foremost of his followers by a good fifty yards. With the hoof marks of the dead grey still printed on his ribs and flanks, and the marks of his enemy´s teeth still show- ing on the fore leg and shoulder, the black had received many additional stabs and gashes in that furious gallop through the big timber. His sable hide was torn from his body in strips. His breath came in loud sobs. Blood, mixed with foam, dropped from his mouth and nos- trils. But his head was up and his crest was arched as, game to the end, he led his wild followers on their last gallop. ¶ They were all in desperate plight. Starting nearly four hundred strong at Boggy Creek, they had lost fully one- fourth of their number in the stampede. Penned in by others on either side, many of the horses had collided with huge trees, and been instantly killed. A deep and narrow water course on the side of Big Hill took heavy toll of the leading division. The bodies of the dead horses were found next day where they had bridged the chasm for those that came after them just as Ney´s cuirassiers bridged the sunken road of Ohain a hun- dred years earlier. The jagged teeth of a barbed wire fence had grievously wounded many, and a few had dropped down dead from sheer exhaustion. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER IV. — THE GREAT STAM- PEDE. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ But still the survivors thundered on, impelled by some strange instinct to follow their leader till they fell. A mag- nificent chestnut, whose ancestors must certainly have been in the Stud Book, and whose sire and dam had without doubt carried silk jackets on the great racecourses of Australia, galloped dog- gedly on with all the spirit of his in- domitable blood at the end of this ter- rible struggle. Yet his chest was trans- fixed by the sharp edge of a branch that had been smashed by one of the leaders, and the broken shaft was still embedded in the wound. Just behind him Tom Hardy saw a raw-boned brown, with four white stockings, and recognised him as his own old buggy horse of by- gone days before the cheapening of the motor. The buggy horse had lost one eye, and a barbed wire fence had torn a fearful gash in his neck, but he was still able to gallop. ¶ It was the same with all of them. Not a horse had come through the wild gal- lop unscathed. Tom Hardy closed his eyes and Benny buried his face in his father´s waistcoat as the two genera- tions, the wild, mountain-bred horses, who had never known the touch of man, and the old gaunt creatures that could remember having worn the badges of servitude long ago, rushed on to their doom together in the wake of the black stallion. ¶ The raging flood of maddened crea- tures swept over the top of the ridge, and, swerving on either side of the big gum, poured in a closely-compacted mass towards the edge of the abyss. ¶ The first to take the leap was the black-stallion. He disdained to turn aside when at last he beheld the gulf opening at his feet. Springing into the air he was carried far out by the mo- mentum of his great pace, and slowly turning over, fell on his back upon the giant boulders two thousand feet below. Tom Hardy heard the thud. ¶ Three seconds later the main body of the stampeding horses reached the edge. Many tried to stop when it was too late, and showers of stones dislodg- ed by the frantic hoofs went over into the abyss along with the struggling ani- mals. Tom Hardy caught a momentary glimpse of scrambling hoofs, bared grin- ning teeth and glaring, terrified eye- balls. Then the living avalanche thund- ered over the precipice, and in a few more seconds the roaring, crashing din that had been echoing through the hills was replaced by a still more-awe-inspir- ing silence. ¶ Little Benny burst into tears, sob- bing convulsively on his father´s chest, while Tom, with white face and shaky hands, still stared out over the preci- pice. But for the friendly tree both he and the child must have been swept away by that terrible stampede, and either trampled into pulp or else carried over the abyss. Slowly and carefully the man descended the tree, carrying the child with him, till he reached the last foothold ten feet from the ground. Leav- ing the boy he leaped down himself and stood with outstretched arms. ¶ “ Jump, Benny, jump ! ” called the man, and the little fellow launched him- self into the air without hesitation, and reached the security of his father´s arms. Then when all the strain was over Tom sat down on the ground and buried his face in his hands. How near he and Benny had been to death ! A delay of even a few seconds more would have meant their destruction. He would never have seen his wife again, and little Benny would never again have looked upon his mother. ¶ As the overwhelming wave of deep emotion and of thankfulness for the escape of himself and his child surged through his whole being Tom Hardy´s first thought turned to Alice, as the needle to the pole. He would see her again. He would look into her eyes and feel the touch of her hands. And he mentally resolved to show his wife that he still loved her as deeply and ardently as in the first days of their married joy, and that his every effort would be de- voted for the future to brightening her life and adding to her happiness. ¶ This was honest Tom Hardy´s dim conception of an acknowledgment and thanksgiving for his preservation from death. His wife occupied very much the same place in his mind that in orthodox minds is customarily reserved for the Deity. In this heart-searching moment which followed upon the extra- ordinary escape of himself and his little son he only vowed to worship his wife more faithfully and more constantly in the future. And then he dried little Benny´s eyes with his handkerchief and sat still while he considered the situa- tion, for he felt too much shaken to do any more work that day. ¶ It was thus that Mr. Cassidy found them as he soared overhead, a prey to the most poignant anxiety. ¶ Circling round to avoid the trees, he alighted dexterously on the narrow belt of land between the big timber and the edge of the precipice. ¶ “ Shurse `tis a heavy load I have off me chist this minnit, Tom Hardy, ” he began as he loosened the buttons of his tunic, “ for be this an` be that I nivir expicted to see ye agin this side uv Hivin. ¶ And then while little Benny listened open-mouthed, and Tom, leaning for- ward, drank in every word, Mr. Cas- sidy told his moving tale. ¶ “ Whin I riz to lave ye, ” he said, “ I sez to meself, ‘ Cassidy, ’ sez I, ‘ remim- ber that ye are a man, ’ sez I, ‘ though the Gov`ment is thryin` to make a burrd uv ye, ’ sez I, ‘ an` don`t ye be goin` back this day ontil ye`ve found ould Weldon an` that deludherin` little soap- peddler that`s wid him, ’ sez I. So I give the jigger a touch an` away we wint headin` for the Black Mountain. It`s wondherful phwhat ye can see whin ye`re up above there. Shure an agyle is only a short-sighted burrd compared wid a throoper from the County Clare, an` prisintly I seen the Boggy Creek, lookin` for all the wurruld like a dhirty bit uv a shtrap, an` be the side uv it Bill Blake´s ould, rid runabout. ‘ Oh- ho, ’ sez I, ‘ now I`m gettin` warrum, ’ sez I, and wid that I come down another two or t`ree hundred feet. I cud see old Weldon sittin` down be the run- about, an` him wid two impty bottles in front uv him an` yellin` at the peddler like he was possessed. ‘ Ye dhrunk me milk, ’ sez he, ‘ an` ye dhrunk me rum, ’ sez he, ‘ an` ye knocked down Bill Blake´s shtable, ’ sez he, ‘ an` ye stampeded the harses, ’ sez he, ‘ an` if it wuzn`t for me bunions, ’ sez he, ‘ I`d kick ye from here to Bolligal. ’ The little felly wuz dandin` about, excited like, houldin` a Winches- ter rifle be the ind uv the barr`l, and I hard him say, ‘ If ye lay a fut on me, ’ sez he, ‘ I`ll shoot ye, ’ sez he. So I just dhrops down bechune thim an` grabs the gun, and sez, ‘ Move on now, move on plaze, no loither- in` allowed be the Boggy Creek, ’ an` wid that ould Weldon jumps up like as if I wuz a new kind uv jimjam, and climbs inter the runabout, an` the peddler wid him, an` away they wint for Waratah Valley as if the divil himself, savin` his prisince, wuz afther thim. An` that wuz the lasht I seen uv the harse hunters. ” ¶ Tom Hardy´s mouth puckered into a smile in spite of his own harrowing ex- periences. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ Love and the Æroplane. ¶ CHAPTER IV. ¶ THE GREAT STAMPEDE. ¶ Three second later the main body of the stampeding horses reached the edge. Many tried to stop when it was too late, and showers of stones dislodged by the frantic hoofs went over into the abyss along with the struggling ani- mals. Tom Hardy caught a momentary glimpse of scrambling hoofs, bored grin- ning teeth, and glaring, terrified eye- balls. Then the living avalanche thun- dered over the precipice, and in a few more seconds the roaring, crashing din that had been echoing through the bills was replaced by a still more awe-inspir- ing silence. ¶ Little Benny burst into tears, sobbing convulsively on his father´s chest, while Tom, with white face and shaky hands, still stared out over the preci- pice. But for the friendly tree both he and the child must have been swept away by that terrible stampede, and either trampled into pulp or else car- ried over the abyss. Slowly and care- fully the man descended the tree, car- rying the child with him, till he reach- ed the last foothold ten feet from the ground. Leaving the boy, he leaped down himself, and stood with out- stretched arms. “ ¶ Jump, Benny, jump ! ” called the man, and the little launched himself in to the air without hesitation, and reach- ed the security of his father´s arms. Then when all the strain was over Tom sat down on the ground and hurled his face in his hands. How near he and Benny had been to death ! A delay of even a few seconds more would have meant their destruction. He would never have seen his wife again, and little Benny would never again have looked upon his mother. ¶ As the overwhelming wave of deep emotion and of thankfulness for the escape of himself and his child surged through his whole being, Tom Hardy´s first thought turned to Alice, as the needle to the pole. He would see her again. He would look into her eyes, and feel the touch of her hands. And he mentally resolved to show his wife that he still loved her as deeply and ar- dently as in the first-days of their mar- ried joy, and that his every effort would be devoted for the future to brighten- ing her life and adding to her happi- ness. ¶ This was honest Tom Hardy´s dim conception of an acknowledgment and thanksgiving for his preservation from death. His wife occupied very much the same place in his mind that in or- thodox minds is customarily reserved for the Deity. In this heart-searching moment which followed upon the extra- ordinary escape of himself and his little son he inly vowed to worship his wife more faithfully and more constantly in the future. And then he dried little Benny´s eyes with his handkerchief and sat still while he considered the situation, for he felt too much shaken to do any more work that day. ¶ It was thus that Mr. Cassidy found them as he soared overhead, a prey to the most poignant anxiety. ¶ Circling round to avoid the trees, he alighted dexterously on the narrow belt of land between the big timber and the edge of the precipice. ¶ “ Shure `tis u heavy load I have off me chist this minuit, Tom Hardy, ” he began, as he loosened the buttons of his tunic, “ for be this an` be that I niver expicted to see ye again this side uv Hivin. ” ¶ And then while little Benny listened open-mouthed, and Tom, leaning for- ward, drank in every word, Mr. Cassi- dy told his moving tale. ¶ “ Whin I riz up to lave ye, ” he said, “ I sez to meself, ‘ Cassidy, ’ sez I, ‘ re- mimber that ye are a man, ’ sez I, ‘ though the Guv`ment is thryin` to make a burrd uv ye, ’ sez I, ‘ an` don`t ye be goin` back this day ontil ye`ve found ould Weldon, an` that deludhe- rin` little soap-peddler that`s wid him, ’ sez I. So I give the jigger a touch an` away we wint headin` for the Black Mountain, It`s wondherful phwhat ye can see whin ye`re up above there. Shure an aygle is only a short-sighted burrd compared wid a throoper from the County Clare, an` prisintly I seen the Boggy Creek, lookin` for all the wurruld like a dhurty bit uv a shtrap, an` be the side uv it Bill Blake´s ould, rid runabout. ‘ Oh-ho, ’ sez I, ‘ now I`m gettin` warrum, ’ sez I, and wid that I come down another two or t`ree hun- dred feet. I cud see ould Weldon settin` down be the runabout, an` him wid two empty bottles in front uv him an` yellin` at the peddler like he was pos- sessed. ‘ Ye dhrunk me milk, ’ sez he, ‘ an` ye dhrunk me rum, ’ sez he, ‘ an` ye knocked down Bill Blake´s shtable, ’ sez he, ‘ an` ye tsampeded° the harses, ’ sez he, ‘ an` if it wuzn`t for me buni- ons, ’ sez he, ‘ I`d kick ye from her to Booligal. ’ The little felly wuz dancin` about, excited like, houldin` a Winches- ter rifle be the ind uv the barr`l, and I hard him say, ‘ If ye lay a fut on me, ’ sez he, ‘ I`ll shoot ye, ’ sez he. So I just dhrops down bechune thim an` grabs the gun, and I sez, ‘ Move on, now, move on plaze, no loither is allowed be the Boggy Creek, ’ an` wid that ould Weldon jumps up like as if I wuz a new kind uv jumjam, and climbs into the runabout, an` the peddler wid him, an` away they wint for Waratah Valley as if the divil himself, savin` his prisince, was afther him. An` that wuz the lasht I seen uv the harse hunters. ” ¶ Tom Hardy´s mouth puckered into a smile in spite of his own harrowing ex- periences. ¶ “ Did you see the horses, Cassidy ! ” he asked quietly. ¶ “ Indade, I did, ” replied the trooper, “ an` bedad, it was a quare race in- tirely. I wanted to get her to warrun ye whin I seen, thim hittin` out for Big Hill, but they had a long shtart on me an` I was laps behind from the wurrud ‘ Go. ’ I riz up first to about a thousan` feet, but I shtruck a contrairy air current, an` had to come back agin to the t`ree hundred fut, an` thin the murdherin` divil reneged on me. ” ¶ “ How was that, Cassidy ? ” ¶ “ I disremimber exactly, an` that`s the thruth I`m tellin` ye, but anny way I hard a crack behind me like the crack uv a stockwhip, an` the next thing I knew I come down t`ree hundred feet fashter`n I iver come downshtairs be- fure, on top uv mad Mick Mahoney´s shtack uv hay. An` the jigger on top uv me, be all the powers ! Her near side wuz blown out us j`int be a gasht uv win`, but I tied it up wid me boot laco an` got goin` agin off uv the top uv the shtack uv hay. Shure I had no chanst at all at all to ketch up wid the shtampede, an` the black bet me home be a broken neck. I cud see thim a- tearin` the threes down wid their teeth, an` t`rowin` up all the jayology in the dishtrict wid the hoofs uv `em as they wint up into the Big Hill, an` jit I dursn`t put the jigger out uv an aisy canter in case she might fall to pieces undher me. But annyway, I kep` me eye on `em, an`, man, `twuz a grand sight intirely whin they come to yer bit uv lan` be the top uv the hill. ” ¶ “ Did they break anything, Cassi- dy ? ” ¶ “ They did, Misther Hardy, sor. An` shure they bruk iverything. The black stallion he wint into that section, an` out uv it agin like a circus harse jumpin` t`rough a paper hoop — an` about free hundred uv his mates af- ther him. I seen wan wheel uv the big lorry shtruck in a blackbutt tree, an` a bit uv the buzz-saw hangin` up next dure, but the tint wuzn`t there at all at all, onless they ate it, an` I disre- member seein` annything uv thim little whiggly-gigglies that druv the buzz- saw, ayther. ” ¶ Tom Hardy learned in this round- about fashion that the result of six months´ savings had been swept away by the visitation. Another shock for poor Alice. But still he could repalce° the plant by economising a bit in some other direction. Tom was an incurable optimist — luckily for him. ¶ “ I wuz comin` shtraight behind thim, ” continued Mr. Cassidy, “ an` I seen `em a splain° as the nose on yer face, whin the new four-rail fince shtud up in front uv `em. Fair, the fince niver had a chanst wid `em. It wint up in the air same as a news- paper in a high win`, an` ye can belave me or not, but I t`lnk `tis travellin` yit. I seen `em shweep pasht ye up in the tree same ae the say shweeps pasht a lighthouse, and then I seen the black shtallion give his lasht lep, an` the whole t`ree hundred divin` afther him like the pigs in the Good Book that Father Doolan larned me whin I wuz a bit uv a boneen mesilf, God rest his sowl. ” ¶ Mr. Cassidy removed his helmet in order to mop his overheated brow, and he forthwith began the discussion of certain matter of necessary procedure in relation to the recent happening, which was unique in his experience. He produced his official notebook and made a rough calculation, showing that three hundred horse scalps at five shillings apiece would return the respectable sum of £75, and that as nobody could get the scalps except by flying down for then and flying back again, it was ob- vious that Providence intended the windfall for him, unless “ that blag- gard, Bert Milligan, who was the only other flying man in the dishtrict, came and sthole a marrch on him. ” ¶ Tom Hardy listened to all this, and much more besides, with exemplary pa- tience. Then Cassidy reverted for a moment to some personal aspects of the momentous event. For instance, under the special provisions of the Population Encouragement Act, the holders of birthright sections were compelled to clear agricultural sections of all heavy timber within a specified period, under severe penalties and the local officer of police was made the authority for en- forcing the provisions. ¶ “ I`ll be havin` to give ye another t`ree munts, belike, for clearin` the tim- ber, Mr. Hardy, ” said the trooper in his best official tone, “ seein` as how the buzz-saw is bruk to pieces an` the whiggly-gigglies is losht intirely. Ye`ll be able to get ivery tree down be that time, I expict. ” ¶ “ No, by Heavens, I will not, ” cried Tom Hardy, starting to his feet and standing bolt upright, with one hand on little Benny´s curly head. “ There`s one tree here that shall never be cut down as long as there` a breath in my body. And that`s the tree that has sav- ed my child´s life and mine. ” ¶ CHAPTER V. ¶ “ A SECRET COMPACT. ¶ “ Mornin`, Mr. Weldon. ” ¶ “ Mornin`, Mr. Blake. ” ¶ The hotelkeeper and his permanent boarder never forgot their respective position and the formal mode of ad- dress continually recurred between them, even when they indulged in the luxury of sitting out on the hotel ver- andah in their shirt sleeves and enjoy- ing the first nip of autumn in the air, after the long, hot summer. Deference was due to Bill Blake in his capacity of proprietor of a flourishing hotel, and Silas Weldon was entitled to respect as a permanent lodger, who paid his way punctually, and always drank fair. Late in the evening they might revert to Bill and Si, but it was always “ Mr. Blake ” and “ Mr. Weldon ” in the morning. ¶ Across the road Tom and Alice sat side by side on the bench outside the store, while Benny played with a tame `possum lately caught on his birthright section on Big Hill. ¶ “ Have ye noticed, Mr. Weldon, ” said Bill, “ how much better Tom Har- dy and his wife have got on together since the great stampede ? ” ¶ “ Since what ? ” asked Silas. ¶ “ I said ‘ since the great stampede, ’ ” replied Bill. ¶ “ Pah ! ” said Mr. Weldon, and spat viciously over upon the footpath. ¶ “ No offence meant, Mr. Weldon, ” said Bill, with a touch of dignified hauteur. “ I wouldn`t have reminded ye of that unpleasant day ef I knew that it still hurted ye. ” ¶ Mr. Weldon didn`t answer. “ If I hurted him ! ” — to remember that dis- astrous day when his regular livelihood had disappeared over Ryan´s Leap in a wild avalanche of maddened brumbies and falling rocks ! And all through that accursed little soap peddler. ¶ “ I was saying, ” continued Bill Blake, “ that Tom Hardy and his wife have got ter be a real model couple lately — over since the — ahem — accident up on Big Hill when she nearly lost Tom and Benny together. Seems to have brought `em closer to each other like. An` I hain`t seen Bert Milligan aroun` for quite a while. ” ¶ Mr. Weldon grunted. ¶ “ You`ll see `im back again soon enough, ” he muttered darkly. “ Did ye ever see a fly keep away from a pot of marmalade ? ” ¶ “ I watches him bringin` the mails every day same as before, ” remarked the hotel keeper, “ but `e jest shoves th bags inter the post office an` is out of sight with Black Swan before I can ask him to have a drink. Black-browed beggar he is, too. Terrible temper, I should say. ” ¶ “ Some women likes `em that way, ” said Mr. Weldon portentously. “ It`s more excitin`. There was little Polly Feeney for one. A young squatter out in the west was mad after her. He would have licked her boots an` hung her all over with diamonds, but she wouldn`t look at him. She went off in the end with a Dago tent hand that tried to knife me when I caught htm monkeying with the pass-out checks. ” ¶ “ A woman, ” said Bill Blake dogma- tically, “ has got ter be brought up with good judgment when she`s young, an` she won`t kick over the traces when she grows up. Same as a horse. ” ¶ Mr. Weldon gave a grunt. ¶ “ Yer a good `and at an argyment, Mr. Blake, but yer facts is all wrong. What ye say sounds as if it orter be sense — but it ain`t. I`ve trained many a horse in my time. It`s dead easy. But women ! Well, jest look at Polly Feeney. Dan Feeney, her father, lar- rupped the hide off her when she was a kid, an` yet she run away with a damn- ed Dago that carried a knife in his boot. ” ¶ This was a staggerer for Dill Blake, but he recovered quickly. ¶ “ I don`t intend wot I said ter apply ter the ladies of your profession, Mr. Weldon. Ef you want a gurl to be a comfort to her father you mustn`t train her fer it by standin` her on a bare- backed `orse in a yard`n a half of pink muslin. But look at my gurl, Wilga. Now, there`s a gurl fer ye. ” ¶ “ She`s right enough, is Wilga, ” mut- tered Mr. Weldon, with appreciative re- collection of good meals, “ a fine girl, an` clever in the kitchen — but I dunno about all yer trainin`. Ye see how it is. A girl natcherally must —— ” ¶ “ I tell you my girl, Wilga, is that sensible she don`t think about young fellers at all, ” interrupted Mr. Blake with quite unnecessary heat. “ She knows that ef she weren`t here I`d have ter hire a housekeeper. ” Mr. Blake paused to re-light his pipe. “ Ever since her mother died I`ve been tellin` her wot selfish brutes men are, ” he continued with a sublime burst of candour, “ an` I reckon that she thor- oughly understands it by now. No fear of Wilga fallin` in love. Ye see, I`ve trained `er too well. ” ¶ Mr. Weldon smiled enigmatically. Perhaps it was at Tom Broughton, who cantered down the road on his beauti- ful horse, Moonlight — the only horse that was left in Waratah Valley. It was registered under the Act as exempt from destruction, “ being retained un- der constant supervision and control for purposes of riding and driving. ” ¶ The sharp ears of Mr. Weldon dis- tinctly caught the sound of a window being pushed up. And a second later Tom Broughton turned in his saddle and waved his hand. Certainly he was a fine cut of a man. ¶ “ I tell yer, ” continued Bill Blake obstinately, with his attention concen- trated as usual on a pet theory instead of on the facts under his nose, “ my girl Wilga is so well trained that she wouldn`t leave, `er old father not fer the best man in the world. She ain`t one of them fly-away sort as `ll waste their father´s time thinkin` about lov- ers, and sech rot as that. I ain`t never `ad the slightest bit of fear about Wil- ga. ” ¶ Mr. Weldon nodded sagely. Tom Broughton had vanished round the cor- ner, and the quick-eared old man on the verandah plainly heard the window be- ing shut down, slowly and reluctantly. ¶ “ `Course not, ” he said, cheerfully. “ Ye ain`t never likely to neither. It`ll be all over afore ye hears of it. ” ¶ Bill Blake snorted with contempt. He revolted in the sense of positive cer- tainty which comes to its fulness only to those who live in the same place all their lives, and have early acquired the habit of bullying their dependents. He had come into contact with relatively few types of character. He had steadi- ly beaten down all opinions opposed to his own. Consequently he had arrived at the comforting view that what Bill Blake did not know was not knowledge. ¶ But Silas Weldon, who had been a cheerful irresponsible vagabond from his childhood, and had moved from dis- trict to district and from country to country in the wake of a travelling cir- cus, had had his natural powers of ob- servation so sharpened by contact with the grindstone of varied experience that he could clearly discern the pig-head- edness of the stationary philosopher. ¶ “ Wilga, ” he communed with him- self, “ is in love with Tom Broughton, an` he likes her, too, more`n a bit. Ef her old fool of a father can`t see it I s`pose he can`t see, either, that Tom Broughton is fairly dazed, for the time, by the smart beauty over at the store. Not that there`s any real `arm in the beauty in spite of `er trips to cloud- land with Bert Milligan. She ain`t that sort. An` she`s prob`ly more in love with `er `usband than she ever could be with anybody else. Don`t sup- pose she cares a row of peanuts about Broughton, anyway. Likely enough he`ll come back for Wilga in the end. Only one I can`t figger up exactly is that squinny-eyed Joe Paterson. Now wot`s `e got ter do with the beauty, I wonder, an` what does `e butt inter the game at all for ? ” ¶ “° Wot the devil are ye mumbling about, Silas ? ” ejaculated Bill Blake ir- ritably, “ ye make me feel fair worri- ed. ” ¶ “ Beg pardon, Bill, ” returned Mr. Weldon politely. “ I was jest thinkin` of a blind fakir that I saw once in Bom- bay. The whole world looked the same to him as a lump of coal in a nigger´s pocket. But `e `ad the delusion that `e could see perfectly. `E was knocked down an` killed by a motor car the day we left for Singapore. ” ¶ “ Mr. Blake was still pondering over the application of this singular remin- iscence when Tom Hardy strolled causu- ally° across the road. ¶ “ Mornin`, Mr. Blake. Wilga in ? ” ¶ Mr. Blake intimated that Wilga was in. Least ways she was out, out in the little paddock at the side of the hotel, feeding the fowls. ¶ Tom Hardy passed on with a friendly nod to the two worthies on the veran- dah, and next minute he was leaning over the neat white paling fence talking to Wilga. ¶ In her simple white blouse and short linen skirt, Wilga was a decidedly at- tractive young person. Tom Hardy had always liked her. Moreover, he thought it a real shame that she should be such a slave to her bullying, dog- matic old father, and he was quite pre- pared to lend her a helping hand if he could. Tom Broughton was a good chap, too, and it was an infernal pity that Bill Blake kept such a tight hand on his daughter and behaved with ill- concealed surliness to Broughton when- ever that diffident individual mustered up enough courage to call at the hotel. Tom Hardy felt that this was a situa- tion in which his tactful help was sure to be appreciated. ¶ “ Well, Wilga, how goes it today ? I saw him riding past a little ago. ” ¶ Wilga blushed prettily, and her face was full of animation. ¶ “ Oh, Mr. Hardy, I really don`t know what to do. Father gets so cross if Tom even looks at me. And I`m sure I don`t know why. ” ¶ “ Tom been around lately ? ” ¶ “ I haven`t spoken a word to him for more than a week ” declared the girl with a little pout. “ He hardly ever comes into the township now, and when he does he just calls at the store and rides home again. ” ¶ “ Tom`s a good sort, ” remarked Hardy, reflectively, “ but he wants a bit of encouragement, Wilga. You shouldn`t be so stand-offish like. ” ¶ “ Oh, Mr. Hardy, how can you say such a thing ? I`m sure I`m not stand- offish, but father hardly ever lets me out of his sight. I`m fairly sick of it. ” ¶ Wilga stamped her pretty little foot, and there was just a suspicion of mois- ture in her big brown eyes. ¶ If there was one thing that Tom Har- dy never could resist it was a tear. ¶ “ There, there, ” he said, patting the back of the little brown hand that rest- ed on the fence beside him, “ we`ll find a way out of the difficulty, little girl, never fear. I`ll have a bit of a talk to Broughton myself. ” ¶ “ Oh, for goodness sake, don`t do that, ” replied the girl quickly. “ He`d be sure to misunderstand, and to think that I wanted him to call. ” ¶ “ Well, don`t you ? ” asked Tom Har- dy with a mystified air. ¶ “ How you do take a person up, Mr. Hardy. As if I`d ask Mr. Broughton to call if he doesn`t want to. I`m sure I don`t care if he stays away altoge- ther. ” ¶ There were real tears in her voice if not in her eyes by this time, and Hardy hastily retraced his steps. ¶ “ There now, don`t cry, Wilga. Of course I know you wouldn`t ask Tom to come and see you, but if he were to come of his own accord, you would be nice to him, wouldn`t you ? ” ¶ “ Of course I would, ” said Wilga, the sunshine breaking through the clouds again. ¶ “ Then I`ll take care that he comes — of his own accord, ” said Tom Hardy, with a grin. ¶ But Wilga´s keen brain and feminine intuitions were working hand in hand. She realised that Tom Broughton had for some time past been under the spell of Alice Hardy´s good looks, and she reflected that she might be able to gather a few hints from Tom Hardy´s demeanour as to whether his wife had manifested any reciprocal interest in the taciturn settler. No one who knew her would accuse pretty Wilga of dupli- city. But still, when she received Tom Hardy at the paling fence with her pleasantest smiles, it was not for him alone. In Wilga´s eyes he was simply a person who might be of considerable use, if properly managed, for helping her with Tom Broughton. She was pret- ty well convinced already from Tom Hardy´s cheery smiles and hearty ap- proval of Broughton that the bachelor had received no encouragement from Alice to philander with her. But there was much still to be learnt, and she was determined to make the best pos- sible use of this open-hearted, good- natured fellow, who was frankly devot- ed to his wife and his home, and yet was ready, out of pure kindness of heart, to help Bill Blake´s daughter in her search for happiness. ¶ And so it was that this spinster Eve presented to the married Adam an ap- ple of temptation, and he swallowed it. ¶ “ I want you to promise me one thing, Mr. Hardy, ” said Wilga, looking quite bewitching as she leaned over the fence, with her big brown eyes smiling up into Tom Hardy´s face. ¶ “ Well, what is it, little girl ? ” asked Tom. “ Can`t promise anything in the dark, you know. ” ¶ “ I want you to promise me that you won`t tell anybody about helping me with — with Mr. Broughton. ¶ There, it was out at last, and Wilga suddenly felt that her cheeks were flaming. ¶ “ You see, father might get to hear about it, and he`d be sure to perform. ” The plausible reason presented itself in a flash. ¶ “ All right, Wilga. ” ¶ “ You won`t tell anybody at all ! ” said Wilga. ¶ “ No, I won`t, ” replied Tom. ¶ You won`t even mention it to Mrs. Hardy, ” ¶ “ No-o, ” said Tom, doubtfully. ¶ “ Well, then, say : ¶ “ Wet`s wet and dry`s dry, ¶ Cut my throat if I tell a lie . ” commanded the young person, with a pretty assumption of authority, and Tom Hardy obediently repeated the sacred formula of childhood before he had time to reflect on the nature of the obligation. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER IV. — THE GREAT STAM- PEDE. ¶ “ Now, then, Benny, it`s time to get up. ” ¶ The small four-year-old urchin clasped his arms more tightly round his father´s neck and smiled roguishly without open- ing his eyes. This was a regular game of his. Nothing would induce him to awake until his father kissed him on both eyes. Then they would open, and Benny was ready to begin the business of the day. He had dozens of such tricks, and his father knew them all by heart. ¶ The splitter´s tent was a very primi- tive sleeping-place. A sapling, resting lengthwise in the forks, of two rip- rights, supported the canvas which was securely pegged down at the sides and back. A waterproof sheet was stretched on the ground, and over it were several thick blue blankets. Benny and his father slept very snugly in those blankets with their feet towards the open front of the tent and the big log fire that was still smouldering a few yards away. ¶ Tom rolled out of the blankets, crept on all fours from the tent, and proceed- ed to sluice his head and arms in the little fern-encumbered creek that tinkled merrily beside the camp. ¶ “ Me too, Daddy, ” gurgled Benny glee- fully. He scrambled out of his small flannel sleeping garment, and danced to- wards the creek — the veritable re-incar- nation of one of those sylvan fauns that sported beside the stream Alpheus, good- ness knows how many centuries ago. Tom bathed him in the creek, and the small, cleared space in the heart of the mountain solitude rang with the merry laughter of the urchin. ¶ Breakfast was a cheery meal. A very small corner of the smouldering log fire served to boil the billy, and the plain, wholesome tucker was simply delicious. ¶ “ If only mother was here, ” said Benny, with his mouth full of biscuit, wouldn`t it be lovely ? ” ¶ “ My word, it would, ” assented Tom, and his thoughts flew back to the beau- iful woman who sometimes seemed so far away from him, but whom he loved with all the strength of his nature. Of course, it must be terribly dull for her in the store. He fully realised that. But when he had made a bit of money he would take her to Sydney and show her the great world. ¶ Poor old Tom ! Wrapped up as he was in his land, and in the various labor- saving appliances by which he sought to accelerate the process of extracting wealth from it, his mental outlook was so narrowly circumscribed that it scarcely touched the relatively wide seg- ment of existence that Alice Hardy took in with her broad sweep of vision. To his eyes Sydney represented the culmin- ation of civilised refinement, the su- preme perfection beyond which it was impossible to go. To Alice it repre- sented merely the point of departure to an unknown external world teeming with glorious possibilities. “ The real distances of life, ” as a great dramatist makes one of his characters remark, “ are in our- selves. The distance that separates hus- band and wife, for instance. ” ¶ After, breakfast, which was soon over, Tom Hardy proceeded to plan out his day´s work, which was to last from dawn to sunset. He was a good deal worried about this new section of his at the top of Big Hill. It was a hundred-acre block of excellent, although heavily timbered land, and it had lately been allotted to him by the Government when little Benny attained his fourth birthday. ¶ The Population Encouragement Act had been hotly debated when the bill was first introduced in the State Par- liament, and strong opposition was shown in the Legislative Council towards its leading provision, which set forth that every bona-fide agriculturist who became the father of a child born in wedlock in any of the rural electorates of New South Wales should, on the said child attaining the age of four years, be granted a leasehold — convertible un- der certain conditions into a freehold title of a section of one hundred acres of Crown land in his electoral division. A good deal had been said about “ pau- perising the people ” by the kind of men who invariably raise that cry when long-standing abuses are being remedied by progressive legislation, but the bill became law in spite of the opposition. ¶ Some of Hardy´s neighbors held as much as six hundred acres apiece, which had been granted to them under the provisions of the Act, and the State Statistician´s annual reports showed a most encouraging improvement in the natural increase of the native-born population. This particular piece of land, watered by the fern-encumbered creek in which Benny had just bathed, was therefore that small Australian´s veritable birthright. How to make the most of it was just now big Tom´s sole preoccupation. ¶ It was with that object in view that Tom, after lighting his pipe, sauntered over to the rough, squarely-built, motor- driven lorry that he used for carrying his working plant in the bush, and lifted out first a big American buzz-saw, and then a couple of handy little elec- trically-driven motors of the latest de- sign. These represented the last word in scientific tree-felling. The new per- manent storage batteries in which co- balt was largely used, supplied power re- liably and very inexpensively, and the buzz-saw did the rest. ¶ Tom Hardy geared up the buzz-saw, fixed the motors, one on each side of a regular “ old man ” blue gum, and re- tired to a convenient distance to smoke his pipe, taking Benny with him. The buzz-saw went on soothingly for five or six minutes, and then it was inter- rupted by an earth-shaking crash, as the huge tree, 250 feet high and nearly 12 feet in diameter, toppled over, cutting a wide swath in the smaller timber that it encountered in its fall. ¶ Benny clapped his hands with delight. He ran off to inspect the fallen mon- arch, and, when he got back again, he found Mr. Cassidy, the trooper from Waratah Valley, in earnest conversa- tion with his father. Benny evinced no surprise at the sudden appearance of the visitor. Mr. Cassidy had literally dropped from the clouds, and his handy little aeroplane was standing by the log on which he and Tom Hardy sat. ¶ “ She`s right enough whin ye git used to her, ” Mr. Cassidy was saying, “ but the harse wuz handier for the short thrips at anny rate. ” He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “ Shtill I`m not sayin` annything aginst her at all at all, ” he added hurriedly, as though de- termined to give no offence to his new means of conveyance, “ An` shure if ye treat her right she`s the quietest little thing that ever ye laid yer leg over. ” ¶ “ But what brings you out here at this hour of the mornin` ? ” demanded Tom Hardy. “ Big Hill is a bit off of yer beat, isn`t it ? ” ¶ “ It is, so, ” replied Mr. Cassidy, “ but Bill Blake wuz aroun` to my place an hour agone, an` he sez, ‘ Cassidy, ’ sez he, ‘ ould Weldon is gone off, ’ sez he, ‘ wid thot deludherin` little omadhaun uv a soap seller, ’ sez he, ‘ to thry for a shot at the black shtallion, ’ sez he, ‘ an` be this and be that, the pair ay thim hov druv me runabout clane t`rough the ind uv me shtable, ’ sez he, ‘ an` I do be afraid they have dhrink taken, ’ sez he, ‘ the saints be bechune us and harrub ! ’ ” ¶ “ Well, what matter if old Weldon has taken a drop too much ? ” replied the un- sympathetic listener. “ He knows his way about these ranges better when he`s drunk than anybody else in the district when sober. ” ¶ “ I`m not sayin` that ould Weldon can`t look afther himself among harses, ” said Mr. Cassidy. “ Shure, he ought to be able to, anny way, an` him bein` nearly kilt intirely by them whin he wuz in the business. But it`s the dhurty little pedd- ler thot I`m afeard about. Shure he don`t know wan ind uv a harse from the other, an` if the black shtallion ketches him he`ll ate him as aisy as I`m afther atin` me breakfast. ” ¶ “ But the wild horses are probably a hundred miles away from here, back in the ranges. They haven`t been seen in this part of the country for weeks. ” ¶ “ That`s what you do be t`inkin, Tom, but ye`re wrong, me bhoy, an` more`s the pity. ” ¶ ( To be Continued. )

OUR SEKIAL STORW * *?'--?- b V ? ?») I llSlb/ g I Bin HL1 I VI J»F18m I ^**fi, CHAP-TER IX^i(Continucd.) .THE RESCUE,. Never had^ucli; » scqno of Irantic { 1 enthusiasm and ^elirious- joy . been witnessed in tliat 'district1 More. Big burly men soloed anil cliearc-l' i;j, turns. In a surging, cheering thong k they swep,t round iPascte, slapping him 0:1 the shoulders with their brawny hands. The conventions of discipline disappeared in a whirling wave of emotionalism. They forgot that lie was the boss. For tlio time being he was a man on exactly the same level as themselves; anil _ they were proud of him — proud -of bis '.courage, SiiJl/ian-tl proMipUtiitla, and '' of. his .readiness to face deaths in or . dor tb ? save the life of -one of his - ? men.' ?';':'.- .C::^v -?'?:?: ?:'.'' ' . ? '???'??? pascoe 'good-humburedly pushed ??'? i^aemc/1-y';:^; :?..', \ , ?.'? ' ? ; ?, !,i*li.hat'li.doi iiowj men,1' he said-. '1 1 'Know veryrwbll that there's' not one I .oFVou who- w.ould not have done as much as, T 'did;- if the call came. But I must attend to tins poor fellow now. He's in a pretty bad way.1' As he spOie Alice Huixly wab try \ m* fruitlessly to malic hucavay thro ugh the throng; 1 \ 'Let hrr Piss/ mates,' shouted a . gigantic navvji 'She's the nf.m's wife ' The men respectful!;, drew back, ana Alice and Pasoo© became the cen tre of an anxiously, sympathetic cir cle of bystanders as they, gently lift ed poor Tom to a sitting posture A glass of brandy was fetehjd from the store and poured down his throat, and, as the revivifying luju or stimulate 1 the action of , the 'V heart, To.n Hard) opened his ejes and smiled at his wife - , '* 'All right,' he whispered, 'quits all right, lass, vou must tal-c i.e BBwkomc soon ' Then he famted ^^Lndci Pasooe's -iii*-aion tfie men iua.u-. a rOjdgh^liuei out, 01 sapling and bJgrfW* iijion wUicu 'lorn nai ay s batWfu'ri frame was earned up HiU hjLlL^jid ttfrougn t^ie lence 1. into his own Pewly-bunt '* hut on- ihe Dirtnngnt section. He quio ly ie covcred consciousnoss^and Alice *!_t i-uaiuu (,ne uun». in. winca nenau ueen placed, 'and held his- hand, while lit tle Benny crept in and out On tip toe, peering at nis- lather with trou J.Jed eyes. 'I'm glad I got the grapnel fixed' , said Tom, after a long spell of 'sil ence 'Thej, can hoo'i up_ the line easy enough, now and fix .the commo tions :for the cradle. They'll be ab le to go straight ahead ..^with the abutments. But they couldn't have ttonc it without me ' Thus ifc came about that Fate,, reaching out for fresh threads io , -weave into the infinite complexities' oi the tauric of density, found Alice Hardy's Jiusuand, too, and pressed 11m into the service of the bndge huildmjf \ Late on the ??same evening,-- Mr. Banks, the Department's* ?cngmecr- m-charge, sat at the table witli Pdscrfe, in Pascoo's little weather lioaid office A c'leap kerosene lamp threw a, circle of light upon the ta'i'e, and within the circle lay a coil of stout ro.e -with a ragged end. ' 'That's the worst of employing outside people, Mr Passoe,' remark yLfA the engmocr-in-chief. 'You never ~ I now exactly where you are with them There's sons -mystery behind pJI this That rope has 'been cut half tVouf.h ' 1 - ? CHAPTER i.. * A BASHFUL LOVER -. - w Is a'lew' wevtfs Tom Hardy s had JL completeiji recovered He kept away Horn WU&-'.Bu-e as union as possible, having come' to the Con clusion tnat he had no natural quali fications for iht career of a, gooe tween, and' that there was no point, whatever in ncLdlcsaly annoying h.s wife for the sa^o of a yuung woman 'for whom he . dii!i not care twopence. Wilga w.ould ha\e to '? catch Tom ? Broughton- herself if she walnted him. Hard5 told himself that lv c uld not 5 assist her anv further It wasn't gond enough % There was a new bonl between pf. Hardy and his wife since the adven ture -at Ryan's Leap. His narrow es cape on that occasion had draw.'i them closer together, and he saw with satisfaction that Alice pa-Vv no encouragement to Bert Milligan to waste the time of the Government in gossiping with her whea he armed every afternoon with the mails.. Alic» indeed had grown unusually quiet. He would havo to think a«out .taking ;her ' away for a holiday as soon as tbe new monorail line was ou-.n. Hardy dropped bacic into his old »nabit of attending to the mails him self and dealing personally with Bert Milligan. The black-Uowed mailman . seemed to. 'to growing more taciturn than ever. The prospect of beinK removed from the Bottlcbrush Waratah Valley run as soon as the monorail track was completed evid ently, weighed on his mind. He sel dom spoke to Hardy except in mono syllables. But Tom was not the man to worry himself unnecessarily about another man's business. His 'w,. uouDiBs were qjuite suilicient fur him. ' It was all very well for him to say that he would have nothing mOre to do with Wilga, but he had reckoned without that Ingratiating 1 young lady, .who speedily set her wits to work to secure, by diligence anl strict attention to business, a con tinuance of his esteemed patronage. Tom's good resolutions evaporated under the influence of AVilga's ingeni ous smiles, and, buoyed up by the consciousness and his motive-, were purely disinterested, he agreed one afternoon early . in . the winter to pick her up in his runabout a couiile 6f miles from the township and take her out to visit Tom Broughtnn at' his farm, at Thrco Tree Hill. Hardy, did not think it necessary to men tion- the matter to his wife. His one desire was to assist Wilga to c^me to some definite ariangement with her dilatorj. admirer, and, as Wilga had not .'made a confidante of Alice, there'was no need to worry his wife about it 'Tom's logic was unanswerable. It was a pretty warm -aftemojn for the time of jear when Tom, who had to run out to the birthught sec tion in any case, picked ~~up Wilga lilake just outside the Unnship and rattled away With her to Three Tree Hill Wilga's neat coat and skirt of ?well-cut, tweed showed ofi h&r trim figure to perfection, and she was in the best of spirits 'I'll go right up to the house With you,' said Tom reassuringly, 'and dig up Broughton for you myself Then I'll leave you there for tea anil ? 1 chatter, and call tack for you on my ; way. home.' I Wilga -was quite excited at the Pro- j spect of paying an afternoon call on her moderatelyi effusive- aidmirer. She ! tipped her hat a. .shade further for ward, pouted her rosy lips mto a most alluring Cupid's bow in the ef fort to make her veil set rii;ht, and smiled with engaging candour at Tom Hardy r 'You're a verji nico man,' she re marked with beautiful franoioss, 'and I don't know what I'd Jo with- ' out you ' 1 'That's right,' said Tom, 'Keep it up If you talk hke that to Brou- | ghton he's bound to come out of Ins I burrow and take notice ' | Wilga Blake was so young and ' fresh and full of vivid life, her' eves were spiaMing so brightly, her lips were so dewy and her teeth were so extfuisitclv white that Tom Hardv, looking into her smiling-, roguish face, mentally vowed that Broughton was an idiot to keep her wanting As the thought flashed through his mind the runabout swung, round ; a, corner, and almost ran over a man who was slouching along the middle, of the road with^Ws eyes fixed on the ground 'Hi' Look out1' yelled Tom The manz-lookerl up quicklj, and leaped aside, avoiding ; the car by a bare eighteen inches His eyes rested for ' a second on Tom Hardy and 'then, on Wilga Blake 'So that's it, is it?' be. muttered sourly. 'Seems like I've got 'em botu ways now. I'll pay 'em bacic orl ri^ht— both . on 'em— before I'm done with 'em,-' Nice rcspeckablc 'us Land an' wife they are--im dnvin' around with that artful piece fron the pub, and 'er yabbenn' with the mailman when the boss is away. YahlJ. , Joe Peterson spat upon the grounfl to indicate 'hi& contempt , But the runabout was already out of sight A' few aiinutes later it drew up ml front of Brougjftton's new six-roomed house on Three Tree Hill, and Hardy emitted several coo-ees without elici ting anv response ''Frairf he's out, Wilga,' said Tom approhensivelv ''lie's prob'ly gone to earth ajyain ' 'Trji again,' urged Wilga m des-- peratioi She was determined not to give m without a struggle Once more Tom Hardy lifted up his voice to signify the arrival of visit ors, and the echoes had «? nefc died awaji when an answer was forth coming It was Broug|hton's voice all right. 'I'll bo there 'm a min ute,' he said. 'Now, sI'll Hist do a scoot,' ex plained Tom Hardy to Wilga You'll get on with him much better with out me, and I'll call back 'bout five o'clock. Good luck ' He swung the runabout round, gVirted the vegetable patch, and dashed out through the open gate at the end of the paling fence (To be Continued )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER IX. — THE RESCUE. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ The blue gum stood right on the high- est point of the hill — a bold landmark that could be plainly seen from Waratah Valley township. To a spectator look- ing towards Big Hill from the township on a dear day the massive, lonely tree wore the appearance of a great light- house crowning the summit of an im- mense cliff. As she gazed up at it, shad- ing her eyes with the palm of her hand, Alice Hardy thrilled with the thought that this mighty landmark was the re- fuge that had saved her husband and child from death. Its waving branches and glossy foliage seemed to her to be inextricably interwoven with all that was nearest to her heart, and she had a strange premonition that its influence upon her life was not yet over. ¶ “ Come along, Alice, ” shouted Tom, “ they`re all waiting for us. I`m like the man that`s going to be hanged, you see. Can`t get along without me. ” ¶ He led the way through the slip panel of the four-railer and Alice followed with Benny. Walking down the slope of the hill they found everyone in a bustle of excitement. Jim Burn was shouting directions to the men at the dynamo which supplied the power for operating the cableway, and Pascoe was standing near the precipice with a coil of stout new Manila rope in his hand. ¶ “ Morning, Mr. Hardy. Glad to see you looking so fit and well. ” ¶ “ Fit as a four-year-old, ” said Tom, with a cheerful smile. “ I`ve brought my wife to see the performance. She posi- tively refused, to stay away. Thinks I ought to get a leather medal for it, I be- lieve. ” ¶ “ Pleased to see you, Mrs. Hardy, ” said Pascoe, shaking hands warmly. “ We don`t often have the pleasure of welcom- ing ladies here but we appreciate their company when they do come. I`ve just been testing this rope at the engine house. It`s fit to hold a house. ” ¶ “ And what has it got to hold ? ” asked Alice, with polite interest. ¶ “ It`s got to hold your husband, Mrs. Hardy, ” said Pascoe, smiling, “ but you mustn`t be nervous when you see him at the end of it ! For a man like him, who knows what he is doing and can always keep his head, there`s not the slightest danger. I assure you. ” ¶ Alice peered down into the gorge with an involuntary shudder, and little Benny, picking up a stone, threw it with all his small strength over the edge. It was several seconds before the stone struck a great flat-topped boulder at the bottom far below and rebounded into the thick brushwood. ¶ “ Ugh ! what an awful depth ! ” said Alice. “ I`m sure I shall be too much frightened to look on while Tom is hanging over it. ” ¶ “ Not at all, ” said Pascoe, cheerily, “ You`ll be all right, I assure you. ” ¶ Ge did hot half like the presence of Tom´s wife at the job, but it was too late to object, so he put the best face possible upon it. ¶ “ I hope you won't mind being left at this side, Mrs. Hardy, for I`m afraid it would be very uncomfortable for you to go across in the carrier. Besides, it would be sure to make you dizzy. ” ¶ “ Mrs. Hardy protested that she had not the faintest inclination to journey across the yawning chasm in a wooden, box slung from the cable. She would be quite comfortable where she was, thank you, ” and so would little Benny. And then her cheek blanched suddenly. She had caught sight of Joe Peterson, who was standing among a group of men near the generating station. ¶ “ Better not look over the edge any more, Mrs. Hardy, ” said Pascoe kindly. “ I`m sure it has made you feel queer already. Why, I declare you`re as white as a ghost. ” ¶ Alice was trembling all over — She ad- mitted that she felt decidedly faint. She sat down on a big log and wiped her brow with her handkerchief. She asked herself wonderingly what could be the explanation of Peterson´s pre- sence. Had be found out anything more about Bert Milligan´s frequent visits ? Was he going to carry out his threat to tell Tom about the midnight journey in Black Swan ? The more she thought about it the more puzzled she became. But her instinct told her that Peterson´s presence boded no good. ¶ “ That`s right, Alice. Sit down and have a good rest, ” said Tom, “ and don`t you worry about me. This job is as easy as sitting on a log. ” ¶ He walked away with Pascoe, and the two men were soon deep in consul- tation. ¶ “ Remember, Hardy, ” said the en- gineer, “ all you`ve got to do is to swing in towards the cliff until you can make fast with the grapnel and get a line round the stump. We`ll manage the rest. ” ¶ Swinging the coil of Manila rope in his hand Pascoe strode along with Tom be- side him, to the dynamo, and, placing the coil on a log, he set to work to test the running gear of the carrier person- ally. The cable was well oiled ; the towers that supported it at either end had been erected by Jim Burn in work- manlike style. ¶ “ Not a hitch anywhere, ” pronounced Pascoe in a tone of complete satisfac- tion. “ I never take any risks, ” he added, “ in a matter of this kind, and I never leave anything to chance. The men may have done their work properly, or then, again, they may not. I`m here to try it out. I`ve tested the new rope that is to hold you, and the cableway, the carrier, the towers, the dynamo and every individual bit of the plant. You`ll be as safe as if you were in your own arm chair. ” ¶ The two men moved away from the dynamo. The inspection had not lasted more than ten minutes. ¶ “ Hi ! you there ! ” shouted Pascoe angrily, “ what the blazes are you doing, sitting on my rope ? Can`t you find a vacant log to hold your lazy carcase ? ” ¶ As the engineer spoke Joe Peterson got up hurriedly from the log and shuffled off among the men. ¶ “ Who the deuce is he, I wonder ? ” muttered Pascoe, with a puzzled air. “ His face is enough to hang him any- how. ” ¶ But Tom Hardy did not answer. He had to desire to drag up the subject of Joe Peterson for discussion. He was well content that the unpleasant events of three years ago, which had been kept from the knowledge of the people of Waratah Valley ever since, should re- main in obscurity. And he was quite sure that Joe Peterson would not talk about them. ¶ Pascoe took up the coil of rope again and called out cheerily : ¶ “ Come along, Mr. Hardy, we may as well get on with it at once, ” and, with a wave of the hand to his wife and little Benny, Tom mounted the ladder and climbed into the carrier, in which Jim Burn was already standing. ¶ The little car ran rapidly over the cable until Pascoe, signalling with his lifted hand, stopped it exactly above the extreme edge of the overhanging rock that jutted out just over the site where the tunnel had yet to be pierced. ¶ “ Got the grapnel and the other line, Jim ? ” asked the engineer in his curt, resonant tones. ¶ “ All right, Mr. Pascoe, everything`s ready. ” ¶ The engineer took the new coil of strong Manila rope that he had tested that morning, and made one end fast to the hook on the carrier. With the other end he rapidly and deftly knotted a fair sized loop. ¶ “ That knot won`t slip, if it has to hold a ton, ” he remarked complacently. Now, here you are, Hardy. Under your arms. So ! ” Tom Hardy slipped the loop under his arm pits so that the knot came in the middle of his shoulder blades. He took the coil of lighter line and the grapnel in his right hand. Then he climbed over the edge of the cradle, and Pascoe and Jim Burn began to pay out the rope slowly and cautiously. ¶ Lower and lower went Hardy ; and Alice, who had been gazing with staring eyes from the opposite side of the chasm, could endure the strain no longer. She turned away her head and covered her face with her hands. ¶ When some thirty feet of the rope had been paid out by the two men in the cradle it began to twist slowly round and round — and Tom Hardy with it. Be- neath him was a sheer drop of fourteen hundred feet to the boulder-strewn bot- tom of the gorge. Above him nothing was visible but that slowly-twisting rope. It fascinated him. He fastened his eyes upon the foot or so of it that was just above his head. ¶ The twisting made him giddy. Would they never stop paying it out up there ? There was a queer little nick in one of the strands of the rope. He could see it plainly, every time the rope turned round. What did it mean, he wonder- ed. ¶ Then the paying out stopped. The rope slowly twisted back again in the opposite direction. Tom Hardy hung by his armpits in mid-air, fifty feet below the cradle, with its two peering faces and something over fourteen hundred feet above the rocky floor of the gorge. ¶ “ Are you all right. Hardy ? ” came a voice from empty space somewhere above him. ¶ “ All right ! ” he called, “ but the voice seemed to him as though it belonged to somebody else. Slowly he began to move his legs backwards and forwards after the fashion of a man on a trapeze. The giddiness had passed off now. He could no longetr° see the curious nick in the strand. It was on the other side of the rope — which had ceased to turn. He was glad of that. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER IX. — THE RESCUE. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ Gradually his body acquired momen- tum. He swung in towards the cliff and then out towards the centre of the abyss. He felt like the pendulum of some terrible and monstrous clock beating out the passing seconds not of Time but of Eternity. With every additional swing he approached nearer to the rocky face of the cliff — and then back further and further towards the central point of the great gulf. His body, as it rushed through the air. described an ever lengthening arc. At last he approached within a few feet of the solitary stump that he had marked out as his objec- tive. ¶ At the middle point of his swing he was far below the stump. He rose with the upward curve of the arc — higher and higher. Strange, how the thought of that nick in the strand of rope oppressed his brain. ¶ But the man knew what he had to do, and his resolute soul was determined to do it. He fastened the loose end of the line round his right arm at the elbow. Then at the highest point of the in- ward swing he threw the iron hooks. They slipped and slid back over the stump. He had missed ! ¶ Some voice from the deepest springs of his being, some “ uprush of subliminal consciousness, ” suddenly surged through his brain. It warned him not to miss again. ¶ Once more the man, noosed under the arm pits at the end of fifty feet of rope, approached the cliff side at the end of his mighty swing. Once more — with supreme effort — he launched the grap- nel. ¶ “ Crash ! ” ¶ There was a sound like the report of a revolver just above his head. And, almost simultaneously, Tom Hardy felt a fearful wrench that almost tore his right arm from the socket and a terrific blow on the chest that knocked all the wind out of him. ¶ When he opened his eyes he found that the grapnel had caught the stump. At the end of the stout line that was attached to it something sore and dazed and breathless was dangling. It was himself. The loop of the new Manila rope was still under his arms and knot- ted about his shoulder blades. But the rope had parted a couple of feet higher up. The broken end of the longer piece, which hung down from the steel cable, was still swinging, but more slowly, out towards the centre of the abyss and back towards the rocky face. ¶ Below the feet of the man who dangled at the end of the grapnel line was a sheer fall of a quarter of a mile to the bottom of the gorge. ¶ Only a very few minutes elapsed be- fore Pascoe, who had seen the whole in- cident from his position in the carrier, was descending to effect a rescue. ¶ A second rope had been hurriedly made fast to the carrier, and Pascoe, with a loop of it fastened under his arm- pits, and a spare coil round his waist, descended in double quick time until he was exactly opposite Tom Hardy, who was hanging by his right arm from the line attached to the grapnel. He was in a half-dazed condition, and the pain in his shoulder was terrible, but he was still conscious, and he could use his left arm, which was free, to ease the strain as far as possible. ¶ Pascoe gathered up the looped end of his spare rope. ¶ “ Catch it, Hardy, ” he sang out as he threw it unerringly. He made fast his own end above his head to the rope by which he had himself descended. It was impossible for Hardy to get the loop over his head and under his arm pits in the position that he was in, be- cause his right arm was knotted to the grapnel line, and Pascoe saw the diffi- culty at a glance. ¶ “ Get into the loop feet foremost, ” he called. Pascoe had a ringing word of command when he chose to exercise it, and Tom Hardy´s dazed brain obeyed unquestioningly. The sufferer managed by holding the loop in his free left hand to get his feet through it and to draw it up under his arm pits, although the pain in his right arm when he withdrew the support of his left was excruciating. Pascoe put a gentle strain on the rope, and drew it into position. ¶ “ Now take a sheath-knife out of your belt with your free hand and cut the grapnel line, ” came in authoritative command. ¶ Tom Hardy fumbled for his sheath- knife, found it, and just touched the tense grapnel line with the keen blade. ¶ Next instant he was swinging over the abyss twenty feet below Pascoe. ¶ The engineer signalled with his hand to Jim Burn. “ Easy ahead, ” he shouted. ¶ Slowly and cautiously the carrier with the foreman standing up in it, and Pas- coe and Hardy strung like beads far below upon the long string that hung from it, began to move back across the chasm towards the tower from which it had started. It was a thrilling spectacle for all those who were gathered at the edge of the gorge, and even the hands of the seasoned working gang could hardly bear to look at the slowly-moving carrier with the two men suspended far below it by the long, tense, slender rope. ¶ Alice Hardy, petrified with terror, crouched on the log on which she had been sitting, and hugged little Benny to her-breast. Every few seconds she look- ed up and saw that another yard or two had been traversed by the carrier in which Jim Burn still stood with every faculty concentrated on the task of see- ing that the rope which held both Pas- coe and Tom Hardy neither chafed nor fouled. Would that terrible journey never come to an end ? ¶ Rough voices tendered comfort all around her. “ `E`s orl right, missis. Not a mite o` danger. Mr. Pascoe`s made a tidy job of it. My word, `e`s a man, `e is ! ” And so forth. But there was one remark that burnt itself into her her brain. “ Carn`t make out `ow the blazes that ther rope come to break. Looks like some bloke`s been an` put a knife inter it. ” ¶ The carrier had passed the centre of the cableway now. The rope that hung from it with its living freight had begun to swing slightly. The spectators who looked on, silent and breathless, saw Pascoe signal with his hand. And then he shouted “ Not so fast. ” ¶ But Tom Hardy made no sign of any kind. Limp and motionless he hung by the loop stretched taut under his arm pits. Clearly he was unconscious. There were some watchers who feared that he was dead. ¶ The carrier crawled along more slowly over the cableway. At last it reached within a few yards of the tower. A buzz of excitement arose from the crowd. But the danger was not yet over. Pascoe was swinging thirty feet below the cliff at the level of the projected abutments of the bridge, and Tom Hardy was twenty feet lower still. It was necessary to haul them up by man power. ¶ Willing hands were quickly at work, and when Pascoe´s head at last appear- ed above the cliff a hearty cheer saluted him. Then came Tom Hardy, and, as soon as his unconscious form was laid upon the solid ground at last, a wild storm of cheers rang out across the gorge and came reverberating from those frowning rocks in glad echoes that were repeated back and forward in long feu de joie of jubilation. ¶ Never had such a scene of frantic en- thusiasm and delirious joy been witness- ed in that district before. Big burly men sobbed and cheered by turns. In a surg- ing, cheering throng they swept round Pascoe, slapping him on the shoulders with their brawny hands. The conven- tions of discipline disappeared in a whirling wave of emotionalism. They forgot that he was the boss. For the time being he was a man on exactly the same level as themselves, and they were proud of him — proud of his courage, skill and promptitude, and of his readi- ness to face death in order to save the life of one of his men. ¶ Pascoe good-humoredly pushed them off. ¶ “ That`ll do now, men, ” he said. “ I know very well that there`s not one of you who would not have done as much as I did, if the call came. But I must attend to the poor fellow now. He`s in a pretty bad way. ” ¶ As he spoke Alice Hardy was trying fruitlessly to make her way through the throng. ¶ “ Let her pass, mates, ” shouted a gigantic navvy. “° She`s the man´s wife. ” ¶ The men respectfully drew back, and Alice and Pascoe became the centre of an anxiously sympathetic circle of by- standers as they gently lifted poor Tom to a sitting posture ! A glass of brandy was fetched from the store and poured down his throat, and, as the revivifying liquor stimulated the action of the heart, Tom Hardy opened his eyes and smiled at his wife. ¶ “ All right, ” he whispered, “ quite all right, lass ; you must take me home soon. ” Then he fainted again. ¶ Under Pascoe´s direction the men made a rough litter out of saplings and bagging, upon which Tom Hardy´s bat- tered frame was carried up the hill and through the fence into his own newly- built hut on the birthright section. He quickly recovered consciousness, and Alice sat beside the bunk in which he had been placed, and held his hand, while little Benny crept in and out on tiptoe, peering at his father with troubled eyes. ¶ “ I`m glad I got the grapnel fixed, ” said Tom, after a long spell of silence. “ They can hook up the line easy enough now and fix up the connections for the cradle. They`ll be able to go straight ahead with the abutments. But they couldn`t have done it without me. ” ¶ Thus it came about that Fate, reach- ing out for fresh threads to weave into the infinite complexities of the fabric of destiny, found Alice Hardy´s hus- band, too, and pressed him into the service of the bridge-building. ¶ Late on the same evening, Mr. Banks, the Department´s engineer-in-charge, sat at the table with Pascoe, in Pascoe´s little weatherboard office. A cheap kero- sene lamp threw a circle of light upon the table, and within the circle lay a coil of stout rope with a ragged end. ¶ “ That`s the worst of employing out- side people, Mr. Pascoe, ” remarked the engineer-in-chief. “ You never know exactly where you are with them. There`s some mystery behind all this. That rope has been cut half through. ” ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER IX. — ( Continued. ) ¶ THE RESCUE. ¶ Wilga Blake waited resignedly for the owner of the premises to arrive, and occupied the time in examining the surroundings. She reflected sage- ly that some day she might be the mistress of the farm on Three Tree Hill, and she already saw several things that required to be altered. The orchard wanted doing up, the fowl-run was not nearly big enough, and that unsightly old iron tank at the corner would have to come down, of course. ¶ “ Hullo there, Tom Hardy ! ” ¶ It was Broughton´s voice unmistak- ably, but Wilga was puzzled to lo- cate it. She looked up and down, back and forward, and round and round, but the owner of the voice remained invisible. ¶ “ Mr. Hardy has gone away, ” the wondering girl announced to empty space. He`ll be back at five o`clock. I`m Wilga Blake. He`s just dropped me here. ” ¶ Of course it couldn`t have been a groan that she heard. But it soun- ded painfully like one. ¶ “ I thought you might like to see me, Mr. Broughton, ” continued Wil- ga, with a little gurgle that was sup- posed to represent artless laughter, but sounded more like an uneasy and self-conscious giggle. “ I hope you won`t look upon me as an in- truder. ” ¶ “ Cuck-cuck-course not, ” said the invisible voice. “ Very pup-pup-plea- sed to see you, I am sure. ” But something very like desperation was discernible in the dolorous welcome. ¶ “ I`m glad you do see me, ” remark- ed Wilga to the empty air, with just a shade of asperity in her voice. “ I`ve been here for quite ten minu- tes, and I haven`t seen you yet. Would you mind coming out ? ”° ¶ “ I only woo-woo-wish I cuck-cuck- could, ” said the voice, “ but I cack- cack-can`t. ” ¶ Wilga was beginning to get annoy- ed. The position was not only try- ing but embrassing°. There she was — left all alone on a bachelor´s pre- mises, but unable to get a glimpse of him. Presumably he was shaving himself when Hardy and she had ar- rived. And now she would have to wait patiently until the operation was over. Really men were too an- noying sometimes. ¶ “ I suppose you`re shaving, are you, Mr. Broughton ? ” ¶ “ Nun-nun-not exactly, Miss Bub- bub-Blake. ” ¶ “ Well, please don`t wait to dress yourself up on my account, Mr. Broughton. Just come as you are. ” ¶ An explosion of mirthless laugh- ter, that was quickly stifled, greet- ed this harmless remark. “ I`m afraid I cack-cack-can`t do that, Miss Bub-bub-Blake, ” said the voice of the invisible one. ¶ Wilga noticed with consternation that Mr. Broughton had developed the stuttering habit since she had last talked with him. Would her love survive the test of constant companionship with a stammering husband. She began to wish that she hadn`t come. ¶ “ Mr. Broughton ! ” ¶ “ Wo-ho-hot is it, Miss Bub-bub- Blake ? ” ¶ “ Aren`t you well, Mr. Broughton ? ” ¶ “ Pup-pup-perfectly well, Miss Bub- bub-Blake. ” ¶ “ Well, why on earth are you talk- ing like that ? ’° ¶ “ My tet-tet-teeth are chattering. ” ¶ “ But why are they chattering ? ” asked the bewildered young woman, vaguely wishing that Hardy in his runabout would put in an appear- ance. ¶ “ Because I`m so cuck-cuck-cold, ” was the startling reply. The day was usually warm for early winter — quite balmy in fact. Wilga fell to wondering what unusual set of cir- cumstances had converted this hand- some young fellow into an invisible Rumpelstilskin° — a person who appear- ed to get colder as his enviroment° grew warmer. ¶ “ Would you mind coming out here at once, ” called the young lady, with decision. “ I would like to see you. ” ¶ “ You really cack-cack-can`t, ” said the voice, with a faint note of des- pair, “ but, if you wouldn`t mum- mum-mind going into the cuck-cuck- cow shed and shutting the dud-dud- door I`ll be with you in a mum-mum- minute. ” ¶ A horrid doubt assailed the mind of the visitor. Could it be possible that Tom Broughton´s solitary habits had turned his brain. She had heard of such things happening — among old shepherds on remote sheep-stations, for instance. It would be safer at any rate to humour him. ¶ “ All right, Mr. Broughton, ” she called with a forced little laugh. If the unhappy man had really gone out of his mind she could at least barri- cade herself in the cow shed and hold him off until Hardy arrived. ¶ “ I`ll go and wait for you in the Cow shed. Don`t be long. ” ¶ She tripped across the little pad- dock at the back of the house, open- ed the door of the shed with trem- bling hands, and entered the dark smelly little place on the verge of tears. ¶ “ Oh, poor Mr. Broughton ! ” she moaned with a sudden gush of real feminine sympathy. “ He really does want somebody to look after him. ” ¶ The black Orpington rooster that was solemnly stalking up and down the fowl run, lifting his feet high, as befitted the cock of the walk, and, running his glittering eye hither and thither in search of fresh worlds to conquer, saw a strange sight as soon as the door of the cow shed closed with a bang. ¶ He saw a human head with dripp- ing hair and goggly eyes emerge ab- ove the top of the iron tank and survey the landscape with a rapid, all-embracing glance. Then he saw a human figure upon which the water- drops still glistened, rear itself cau- tiously up from the interior of the tank. It was entirely unclothed save for a bath towel that was hastily knotted about the waist. The roost- er was accustomed to human vagar- ies, so he treated the apparition with silent contempt, but Tom Brou- ghton, for it was indeed he, lifted one leg carefully over the edge of the tank and waved an investigat- ing foot wildly in the air until it encountered the topmost rung on the ladder that was set beside the elevated reservoir. Then he lifted the other leg over, and descended the ladder with many an apprehensive backward glance. Arriving at the ground he ran, or rather flew, along the gravel path regardless of the peb- bles that bruised his unprotected feet, until he reached the front door, and so disappeared from sight. ¶ No eye save that of the black Or- pington had seen that guilty flight, but the dripping footprints on the stone slab at the base of the wooden piles upon which the tank was erec- ted told a plain tale that a boy scout could have read with ease. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER IX. — ( Continued. ) ¶ THE RESCUE. ¶ Lower and lower went Hardy, and Alice, who had been gazing with staring eyes from the opposite side of the chasm, could endure the strain no longer. She turned away her head and covered her face with her hands. ¶ When some thirty feet of the rope had been paid out by the two men in the cradle it began to twist slow- ly round and round — and Tom Hardy with it. Beneath him was a sheer drop of fourteen hundred feet to the boulder-strewn bottom of the gorge. Above him nothing was visible but that slowly-twisting rope. It fascin- ated him. He fastened his eyes upon the foot or so of it that was just above his head. ¶ The twisting made him giddy. Would they never stop paying it out up there ? There was a queer little nick in one of the strands of the rope. He could see it plainly every time the rope turned round. What did it mean, he wondered ? ¶ Then the paying out stopped. The rope slowly twisted back again in the opposite direction. Tom Hardy, hung by his armpits in mid-air, fifty feet below the cradle, with its two peering faces and something over fourteen hundred feet above the rocky floor of the gorge. ¶ “ Ace you all right Hardy ? ” came a voice from empty space somewhere above him. ¶ “ All right ! ” he called, but the voice seemed to him as though it belonged to somebody else. Slowly he began to move his legs back- wards and forwards after the fashion of a man on a trapeze. The giddi- ness had passed off now. He could no longer see the curious nick in the strand. It was on the other side of the rope — which had ceased to turn. He was glad of that. ¶ Gradually his body acquired mo- mentum. He swung in towards the cliff and then out towards the centre of the abyss. He felt like the pen- dulum of some terrible and monstr- ous clock beating out the passing seconds not of Time but of Eternity. With every additional swing he ap- proached nearer to the rocky face of the cliff — and then back further and further towards the central point of the great gulf. His body, as it rushed through the air, described an ever lengthening arc. At last he ap- proached within a few of the soli- tary stump that he had marked out as his objective. ¶ At the middle point of his swing he was far below the stump. He rose with the upward curve of the arc — higher and higher. Strange, how the thought of that nick in the strand of rope oppressed his brain. ¶ But the man knew what he had to do, and his resolute soul was deter- mined to do it. He fastened the loose end of the line round his right arm at the elbow. Then at the highest point of the inward swing he threw the iron hooks. They slipped and slid back over the stump. He had missed ! ¶ Some voice from the deepest springs of his being, some “ uprush of subliminal consciousness, ” sud- denly surged through his brain. It warned him not to miss again. ¶ Once more the man, noosed under the arm pies° at the end of fifty feet of rope, approached the cliff side at the end of his mighty swing. Once more — with a supreme effort — he launched the grapnel. ¶ Crash ! ¶ There was a sound like the report of a revolver just above his head. And almost simultaneously, Tom Hardy felt a fearful wrench that almost tore his right arm from the socket and a terrific blow on the chest that knocked all the wind out of him. ¶ When he opened his eyes he found that the grapnel had caught the stump. At the end of the stout line that was attached to it some- thing sore and dazed and breathless was dangling. It was himself. The loop of the new Manila rope was still under his arms and knotted about his shoulder blades. But the rope had parted a couple of feet higher up. The broken end of the longer piece, which hung down from the steel cable, was still swinging, but more slowly, out towards the centre of the abyss and back towards the rocky face. ¶ Below the feet of the man who dangled at the end of the grapnel line was a sheer fall of a quarter of a mile to the bottom of the gorge. ¶ Only a very few minutes elapsed be- fore Pascoe, who had seen the whole incident from his position in the carrier, was descending to effect a rescue. ¶ A second rope had been hurriedly made fast to the carrier, and Pascoe with a loop of it fastened under his armpits and a spare coil round his waist, descended in double quick time until he was exactly opposite Tom Hardy, who was hanging by his right arm from the line attach- ed to the grapnel. He was in a half-dazed condition, and the pain in his shoulder was terrible, but he was still conscious, and he could use his left arm, which was free, to ease the strain as far as possible, of his spare rope. ¶ Pascoe gathered up the looped end {of his spare rope.} ¶° “ Catch it, Hardy, ” be sang out as he threw it unerringly. He made fast his own end above his head to the rope by which he had himself descended. It was impossible for Hardly to get the loop over his head and under his arm pits in the posi- tion that he was in, because his right arm was knotted to the grap- nel line, and Pascoe saw the diffi- culty at a glance. ¶ “ Get into the loop feet foremost, ” he called. Pascoe had a ringing word of command when he chose to exercise it, and Tom Hardy´s dazed brain obeyed unquestioningly. The sufferer managed by holding the loop in his free left hand to get his feet through it and to draw it up under his arm pits, although the pain in his right arm when he with- drew the support of his left was ex- cruciating. Pascoe put a gentle strain on the rope, and drew it in- to position. ¶ “ Now take the sheath-knife out of your belt with your free hand and cut the grapnel line, ” came in au- thoriative command. ¶ Tom Hardy fumbled for his sheath knife, found it, and just touched the tense grapnel line with the keen blade. ¶ Next instant he was swinging over the abyss twenty feet below Pascoe. ¶ The engineer signalled with his hand to Jim Burn. “ Easy ahead, ” he shouted. ¶ Slowly and cautiously the carrier with the foreman standing up in it and Pascoe and Hardy strung like beads far below upon the long string that hung from it, began to move back across the chasm towards the tower from which it had started. It was a thrilling spectacle for all those who were gathered at the edge of the gorge and even the hands of the seasoned working gang could hardly bear to look at the slowly- moving carrier with the two men suspended far below it by the long, tease, slender rope. ¶ Alice Hardy, petrified with terror, crouched on the log on which she had been sitting, and hugged little Benny to her breast. Every few sec- onds she looked up and saw that an- other yard or two had been travers- ed by the carrier in which Jim Burn still stood with every faculty con- centrated on the task of seeing that the rope which held both Pascoe and Tom Hardy neither chafed nor fouled. Would that terrible journey never come to an end ? ¶ Rough voices tendered comfort all round her. “ `E`s orl right, missis. Not a mite o` danger. Mr. Pascoe`s made a tidy job of it. My word, `es- `s a man, `e is ! ” And so forth. But there was one remark that burnt it- self into her brain. “ Carn`t make out `ow the blazes that ther rope come to break. Looks like some bloke`s been an` put a knife inter it. ” ¶ The carrier had passed the centre of the cableway now. The rope that hung from it with its living freight had begun to swing slightly. The spectators who looked on, silent and breathless, saw Pascoe signal with his hand. And then he shouted “ Not so fast. ” ¶ But Tom Hardy made no sign of of any kind. Limp and motionless he hung by the loop stretched taut un- der his arm pits. Clearly he was unconscious. There were some watch- ers who feared that he was dead. ¶ The carrier crawled along more slowly over the cableway. At last it reached within a few yards of the tower. A buzz of excitement arose from the crowd. But the dan- ger was not yet over. Pascoe vas swinging thirty feet below the cliff at the level, of the projected abut- ments of the bridge, and Tom Hardy was twenty feet lower still. It was necessary to haul them up by man power. ¶ Willing hands were quickly at work and when Pascoe`s head at last ap- peared aboke° the cliff a hearty cheer saluted him. Then came Tom Har- dy, and, as soon as his unconscious form was laid upon the solid ground at last, a wild storm of cheers rang out across the gorge and came re- verberating from those frowning rocks in glad echoes that were re- peated back and forward in a long feu de joie of jubilation. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ CHAPTER IX. — THE RESCUE. ¶ Word had gone round that something sensational in the way of engineering exploits was about to take place at the scene of the bridge-building, and, when Tom arrived at the birthright section in his runabout with Alice and little Benny, he could see that about half of the residents of Waratah Valley were al- ready on the spot. ¶ As he looked over the four-rail fence he noticed Bill Blake and Silas Weldon, Tom Broughton and Cassidy talking to- gether near the edge of the gorge. Pas- coe and Jim Burn were deep in consulta- tion at the door of the. office, and Jim Burn´s men were working like beavers putting the final touches to the cable- way. ¶ Amidst the busy crowd of moving men Tom Hardy´s eye rested, for a mo- ment on a familiar figure. Surely there could be no possibility of mistaking that slouching form and furtive, slinking gait. ¶ “ What the deuce is Joe Peterson doing here ? ” muttered Hardy to himself in perplexity. He loathed the sight of the brute ever, since that day of the drunken outrage three years ago, and of the ter- rible punishment that he had meted out to Peterson in requittal. ¶ However, he decided to say nothing to Alice about his discovery. It would only upset her. Besides, he recalled to mind that within the last week or two a new feeling — a feeling of something more than detestation — seemed to have come over his wife in regard to Peterson. Previous- ly she had only hated him. But latterly her manner betokened fear as well as loathing whenever Peterson´s name was mentioned, which indeed was not often. ¶ It was a keen pleasure to Tom to watch his handsome wife as she looked at all the improvements on the birthright sec- tion, with little Benny, the nominal pro- prietor, to show her round. The new hut came in for a word of appreciation, especially when Tom pointed out the wireless telephone plant that was in pro- cess of erection in the corner of the prin- cipal room, and explained that when she was at the store and he was at the hut they would be able to talk away quite comfortably. ¶ But the object that really rivetted Alice Hardy´s attention and held her enthralled was the giant blue gum that stood with its roots reaching far down into the rocky soil close up to Ryan´s Leap, and its waving crown of foliage that rose aloft until it seemed to touch the sky. It was the only big tree left on the section, and it easily overtopped all the timber on the adjoining block of Crown land on the lower slope that had been taken over by the Railway Depart- ment. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER IX. ¶ THE RESCUE. ¶ Word had gone round that something sensational in the way of engineering was about to take place at the scene of the bridge-building, and, when Tom arrived at the birthright sec- tion in his runabout with Alice and little Benny, he could see that about half of the residents of Waratah Valley were already on the spot. ¶ As he looked over the four-rail fence he noticed Bill Blake and Sil- as Weldon, Tom Broughton and Cas- sidy talking together near the edge of the gorge. Pascoe and Jim Burn were deep in consultation at the door of the office, and Jim Burns men were working like beavers put- ting the final touches to the cable- way. ¶ Amidst the busy crowd of moving men Tom Hardy´s eye rested for a moment on a familiar figure. Surely there could be no passibility° of mis- taking that slouching form and fur- tive, slinking gait. ¶ “ What the deuce is Joe Peterson doing here ? ” muttered Hardy to him- self in perplexity. He loathed the sight of the brute ever since that day of the drunken outrage three years ago, and of the terrible pun- ishment that he had meted out to Peterson in requital. ¶ However, he decided to say noth- ing to Alice about his discovery. It would only upset her. Besides, he recalled to mind that within the last week or two a new feeling — a feeling of something more than detestation — seemed to have come over his wife in regard to Peterson. Previ- ously she had only hated him. But latterly her manner betokened fear as well as loathing whenever Peter- son´s name was mentioned, which indeed was not often. ¶ It was a keen pleasure to Tom to watch his handsome wife as she look- ed at all the improvements on the birthright section, with little Benny the nominal proprietor, to show her round. The new hut came in for a word of appreciation, especially when Tom pointed out the wireless tele- phone plant that was in process of erection in the corner of the prin- cipal room, and explained that when she was at the store and he was at the hut they would be able to talk away quite comfortably. ¶ But the object that really rivetted Alice Hardy´s attention and held her enthralled was the giant blue gum that stood with its roots reaching far down into the rocky soil close up to Ryan´s Leap, and its waving crown of foliage that rose aloft until it seemed to touch the sky. It was the only big tree left on the section, and it easily overtopped all the timber on the adjoining block of Crown land on the lower slope that had been taken over by the Railway Depart- ment. ¶ The blue gum stood right on the highest point of the hill — a bold landmark that could be plainly seen from Waratah Valley township. To a spectator looking towards Big Hill from the township on a clear day the massive, lonely, tree wore the appear- ance of a great lighthouse crowning the summit of an immense cliff. As she gazed up at it, shading her eyes, with the palm of her hand, Alice Hardy thrilled with the thought that this mighty landmark was the re- fuge that had saved her husband and child from death. Its waving branch- es and glossy foliage seemed to her to be inextricably interwoven with all that was nearest to her heart, and she had a strange premonition that its influence upon her life was not yet over. ¶ “ Come along, Alice, ” shouted Tom, “ they`re all waiting for us. I`m like the man that`s going to be hanged, you see. Can`t get along without me. ” ¶ He led the way through the slip panel of the four-railer and Alice fol- lowed with Benny. Walking down the slope of the hill they found every- one in a bustle of excitement. Jim Burn was shouting directions to his men at the dynamo which supplied the power for operating the cable- way, and Pascoe was standing near the precipice with a coil of stout, new, Manila rope in his hand. ¶ “ Morning, Mr. Hardy. Glad to see you looking so fit and well. ” ¶ “ Fit as a four-year-old, ” said Tom with a cheerful smile. “ I`ve brought my wife to see the performance. She positively refused to stay away. Thinks I ought to get a leather me- dal for it, I believe. ” ¶ “ Pleased to see you, Mrs. Hardy, ” said Pascoe, shaking hands warmly. “ We don`t often have the pleasure of welcoming ladies here, but we ap- preciate their company when they do come. I`ve just been testing this rope at the engine house. It`s fit to hold a house. ¶ “ And what has it got to hold ? ” asked Alice, with polite interest. ¶ “ It`s got to hold your husband, Mrs. Hardy, ” said Pascoe, smiling, “ but you musn`t be nervous when you see him at the end of it. For a man like him, who knows what he is doing and can always keep his head, there`s not the slightest dan- ger, I assure you. ” ¶ Alice peered down into the gorge with an involuntary shudder, and little Benny, picking up a stone, threw it with all his small strength over the edge. It was several sec- onds before the stone struck a great flat-topped boulder at the bottom far below and rebounded into the thick brushwood. ¶ “ Ugh ! what an awful depth ! ” said Alice, “ I`m sure I shall be too much frightened to look on while Tom is hanging over it. ” ¶ “ Not at all, ” said Pascoe, cheer- ily. “ You`ll be all right, I assure you. ” ¶ He did not half like the presence of Tom´s wife at the job, but it was too late to object, so he put the best face possible upon it. ¶ “ I hope you won`t mind being left at this side, Mrs. Hardy for I`m afraid it would be very uncomfort- able for you to go across in the car- rier. Besides, it would be sure to make you dizzy. ” ¶ Mrs. Hardy protested that she had had not the faintest inclination to journey across the yawning chasm in a wooden box slung from the cable. She would be quite comfortable where she was, thank you, and so would little Benny. And then her cheek blanched suddenly. She had caught sight of Joe Peterson, who was standing among a group of men near the generating station. ¶ “ Better not look over the edge any more, Mrs. Hardy, ” said Pascoe kin- dly. “ I`m sure it has made you feel feel° queer already. Why, I declare, you`re as white as a ghost. ” ¶ Alice was trembling all over. She admitted that she felt decidedly faint. She sat down on a big log and wip- ed her brow with her handkerchief. She asked herself wonderingly, what could be the explanation of Peter- son´s presence. Had he found out any more about Bert Milligan´s fre- quent visits ? Was he going to carry out his threat to tell Tom about the midnight journey in “ Black Swan ? ” The more she thought abut° it the more puzzled she became. But her instinct told her that Peterson´s pre- sence boded no good. ¶ “ That`s right, Alice. Sit down and have a good rest, ” said Tom, “ and don`t you worry about me. This job is as easy as sitting on a log. ” ¶ He walked away with Pascoe and the two men were soon deep in con- sultation. ¶ “ Remember, Hardy, ” said the en- gineer, “ all you`ve got to do is to swing in towards the cliff until you can make fast with the grapnel and get a line round the stump. We`ll manage the rest. ” ¶ Swinging the coil of Manila rope in his hand Pascoe strode along with Tom beside him, to the dynamo, and placing the coil on a log, he set to work to test the running gear of the carrier personally. The cable was well oiled ; the towers that support- ed it at either end had been erected by Jim Burn in workmanlike style. ¶ “ Not a hitch anywhere, ” pronounc- ed Pascoe in a tone of complete sat- isfaction. “ I never take any risks, ” he added “ in a matter of this kind, and I never leave anything to chance. The men may have done their work properly, or then, again, they may not. I`m here to try it out. I`ve tested the new rope that is to hold you, and the cableway, the carrier, the towers, the dynamo, and every individual bit of the plant. You`ll be as safe as if you were in your own arm chair. ” ¶ The two men moved away from the dynamo. The inspection had not las- ted more than ten minutes. ¶ “ Hi ! you there ! ” shouted Pascoe angrily, “ what the blazes are you doing, sitting on my rope ? Can`t you find a vacant log to hold your lazy carcass ? ” ¶ As the engineer spoke Joe Peterson got up hurriedly from the log and shuffled off among the men. ¶ “ Who the deuce is he, I wonder ? ” muttered Pascoe, with a puzzled air. “ His face is enough to hang him anyhow. ” ¶ But Tom Hardy did not answer. He had no desire to drag up the subject of Joe Peterson for discus- sion. He was well content that the unpleasant events of three years ago, which had been kept from the know ledge of the people of Waratah Val- ley ever since should remain in ob- scurity. And he was quite sure that Joe Peterson would not talk about them. ¶ Pascoe took up the coil of rope and called out cheerily : ¶ “ Come along, Mr. Hardy, we may as well get on with it at once, ” and, with a wave of the hand to his wife and little Benny, Tom mounted the ladder and climbed into the carrier, in which Jim Burn was already standing. ¶ The little car ran rapidly over the cable until Pascoe, signalling with his lifted hand, stopped it exactly above the extreme edge of the over- hanging rock that jutted out just over the site where the tunnel had yet to be pierced. ¶ “ Got the grapnel and the other line, Jim ? ” asked the engineer in his curt, resonant tones. ¶ “ All right, Mr. Pascoe ; everything`s ready. ” ¶ The engineer took the new coil of strong Manila rope that he had test- ed that morning and made one end fast to the hook on the carrier. With the other end he rapidly and deftly knotted a fair-sized loop. ¶ “ That knot won`t slip, if it has to hold a ton, ” he remarked complacen- tly. “ Now, here you are, Hardy. Under your arms. So ! ” Tom Hardy slipped the loop under his arm pits so that the knot came in the mid- dle of his shoulder blades. He took the coil of lighter line and the grap- nel in his right hand. Then he climbed over the edge of the cradle, and Pascoe and Jim Burn began to pay out the rope slowly and cauti- ously. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER V. — ( Continued. ) ¶ A SECRET COMPACT. ¶ “ Wot the devil are ye mumbling about, Silas ? ” ejaculated Bill Blake irritably, “ ye make me feel fair wor- ried. ” ¶ “ Beg pardon, Bill, ” returned Mr. Weldon politely. “ I was jest think- in` of a blind fakir that I saw once in Bombay. The whole world looked the same to him as a lump of coal in a nigger´s pocket. But `e `ad the delusion that `e could see perfectly. `E was knocked down an` killed by a motor car the day we left fer Singapore. ” ¶ Mr. Blake was still pondering over the application of this singular re- miniscence when Tom Hardy stroll- ed casually across the road. ¶ “ Mornin`, Mr. Blake. Wilga in ? ” ¶ Mr. Blake intimated that Wilga was in. Least ways she was out, out in the little paddock at the side of the hotel feeding the fowls. ¶ Tom Hardy passed on with a friendly nod to the two worthies on the verandah, and next minute he was leaning over the neat white paling fence talking to Wilga. ¶ In her simple, white blouse and short linen skirt, Wilga was a de- cidedly attractive young person. Tom Hardy had always liked her. Moreover, he thought it a real shame that she should be such a slave to her bullying, dogmatic old father, and he was quite prepared to lend her a helping hand if he could. Tom Broughton was a good chap, too, and it was an infernal pity that Bill Blake kept such a tight hand on his daughter and be- haved with ill-concealed surliness to Tom Broughton whenever that diffident individual mustered up enough cour- age to call at the hotel. Tom Hardy felt that this was a situa- tion in which his tactful help was sure to be appreciated. ¶ “ Well, Wilga, how goes it to-day ? I saw him riding past a little ago. ” ¶ Wilga blushed prettily, and her face was full of animation. ¶ “ Oh, Mr. Hardy, I really don`t know what to do. Father gets so cross if Tom even looks at me. And I`m sure I don`t know why. ” ¶ “ Tom been around lately ? ” ¶ “ I haven`t spoken a word to him for more than a week, ” declared the girl with a little pout. “ He hardly ever comes into the township now, and when he does he just calls at the store and rides home again. ” ¶ “ Tom`s a good sort, ” remarked Hardy, reflectively, “ but he wants a bit of encouragement, Wilga. You shouldn`t be so stand-offish like. ” ¶ “ Oh, Mr. Hardy, how can you say such a thing ? I`m sure I`m not stand-offish, but father hardly ever lets me out of his sight. I`m fairly sick of it. ” ¶ Wilga stamped her pretty little foot, and there was just a suspicion of moisture in her big brown eyes. ¶ If there was one thing that Tom Hardy never could resist it was a tear. ¶ “ There, there, ” he said, patting the back of the little brown hand that rested on the fence beside him “ we`ll find a way out of the diffi- culty, little girl, never fear. I`ll have a bit of a talk to Broughton myself. ” ¶ “ Oh, for goodness sake, don`t do that, ” replied the girl quickly. “ He`d be sure to misunderstand, and to think that I wanted him to call. ” ¶ “ Well, don`t you ? ” asked Tom Hardy, with a mystified air. ¶ “ How you do take a person up, Mr. Hardy. As if I`d ask Mr. Brou- ghton to call if he doesn`t want to. I`m sure I don`t care if he stays away altogether. ” ¶ There were real tears in her voice if not in her eyes by this time, and Hardy hastily retraced his steps. ¶ “ There now, don`t cry, Wilga. Of course I know you wouldn`t ask Tom to come and see you, but if he were to come of his own accord, you would be nice to him, wouldn`t you ? ” ¶ “ Of course I would, ” said Wilga, the sunshine breaking through the clouds again. ¶ “ Then I`ll take care that he comes — of his own accord, ” said Tom Hardy with a grin. ¶ But Wilga´s keen brain and femin- ine intuitions were working hand in hand. She realised that Tom Broughton had for some time past been under the spell of Alice Har- dy´s good looks, and she reflected that she might be able to gather a few hints from Tom Hardy´s de- meanour as to whether his wife had manifested any reciprocal interest in the taciturn settler. No one who knew her would accuse pretty Wil- ga of duplicity. But still, when she received Tom Hardy at the paling fence with her pleasantest smiles it was not for himself alone. In Wilga´s eyes he was simply a per- son who might be of considerable use if properly managed, for helping her with Tom Broughton. She was pretty well convinced already from Tom Hardy´s cheery smiles and hearty approval of Broughton that the bachelor had received no en- couragement from Alice to philander with her. But there was much still to be learnt, and she was deter- mined to make the best possible use of this open-hearted, good-natured fellow, who was frankly devoted to his wife and his home, and yet was ready, out of pure kindness of heart, to help Bill Blake´s daughter in her search for happiness. ¶ And so it was that this spinster Eve presented to the married Ad- am an apple of temptation, and he swallowed it. ¶ “ I want you to promise me one thing, Mr. Hardy, ” said Wilga, looking quite bewitching as she leaned over the fence, with her big brown eyes smiling up into Tom Hardy´s face. ¶ “ Well, what is it, little girl ? ” asked Tom. “ Can`t promise any- thing in the dark you know. ” ¶ “ I want you to promise me that you won`t tell anybody about help- ing me with — with Mr. Brough- ton. ” ¶ There, it was out at last, and Wil- ga suddenly felt that her cheeks were flaming. ¶ “ You see, father might get to hear about it and he`d be sure to perform. ” The plausible reason pre- sented itself in a flash. ¶ “ All right, Wilga. ” ¶ “ You won`t tell anybody at all ? ” said Wilga. ¶ “ No, I won`t, ” replied Tom. ¶ “ You won`t even mention it to Mrs. Hardy ? ” ¶ “ N-no, ” said Tom, doubtfully. ¶ “ Well then, say : ¶ “ Wet`s wet and dry`s dry, Cut my throat if I tell a lie. ” commanded the young person, with a pretty assumption of authority, and Tom Hardy obediently repeated the sacred formula of childhood before he had time to reflect on the na- ture of the obligation. ¶ Wilga was anxious that Mrs. Hardy should be kept in ignorance of her husband´s intervention in the matter of inducing Tom Broughton to come to the scratch. She had an uneasy feeling that even if Alice took but little interest in her own Platonic admirer she would be un- willing to help on his definite courtship with another woman. Mrs. Hardy would probably insist on Tom keeping out of the affair al- together. But Wilga could not help feeling that his assistance was ab- solutely indispensable. There was a good deal of the wombat about Tom Broughton, and when he once disappeared into his hole at Three Tree Hill he would stay there for weeks, unless firmly and persevering- ly dug out. Tom Hardy was the only man in the township who could dig the recluse out with any certainty. ¶ So Wilga, having gained her point gave Tom a farewell wave of the hand and called after him in ac- cents full of meaning. “ Don`t for get ! ” ¶ “ Rum go, that, ” muttered Mr. Weldon, who had observed the whole of the little scene from his seat on the verandah. And then he murmur- ed with apparent irrelevance : ¶ “ Well, well, they gallops in all shapes. ” ¶ When Tom strolled back to the store he found Benny playing with his `possum on the stoup, but Alice had disappeared inside. She was unaccountably short tempered all the morning, but she soon got over her annoyance. It was really too silly to imagine anything so ridiculous. ¶ As the summer changed insensibly into Autumn Tom Hardy almost de- serted the birthright section on Big Hill. He spent most of his time in his workshop at the back of the store perfecting a new electrically- driven stump-extracter with which he hoped to do wonders, and putt- ing the finishing touches to the wireless telephone which he intended to instal on Big Hill, so that he could talk to Alice from the sec- tion whenever he felt lonely. He whistled cheerily at his work, and never grew tired of answering little Benny´s innumerable questions. ¶ Alice grew strangely happy too these days — happier than she could have believed possible. The never- ending round of duties in the store and post office became a soothing anodyne for all her unquiet yearn- ings, and when she looked from the window and saw her husband cheer- ily working away in the shed ac- ross the little paddock all her vag- ue ambitions for a wider life passed away like restless dreams at the coming of dawn. ¶ In the evenings, when Tom had lit his pipe and they sat together on the bench outside the store, they talked over the simple incidents of the day, and her hand would steal into her husband´s as he told her all his schemes for making the birth- right section on Big Hill the mod- el farm of the district. ¶ Those were very peaceful days. ¶ Alice scarcely ever saw Bert Mil- ligan now. The mailman came and went in his air machine, but it was Tom who took the mail bags from him and carried them to the post office. And Bert Milligan, dark browed, surly and silent, would mount “ Black Swan ” and soar away into the blue and golden sky, wondering at the change that had come over the beautiful woman whose white hands had stroked his curly hair once on that unforgotten night beside the sea. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER V. — ( Continued. ) ¶ A SECRET COMPACT. ¶ Still there were occasions, and by no means infrequent ones, when Al- ice Hardy felt mysterious twinges of pain. Why was this husband, who loved her so much, constantly yarn- ing with Wilga Blake, of mornings, over the neat white paling fence. When she questioned him sharply ab- out it he looked positively guilty, and could only declare unconvincing- ly that Wilga was young enough to be his daughter. Alice reflected bit- terly that there were creatures in the world, bearing the name of men, who seemed to prefer to spend their time with girls young enough to be their daughters rather than with the women who were old en- ough to be their wives. It seemed blasphemous to mention Tom Hardy in the same breath with such crea- tures, and yet there was no doubt that he was very aggravating. Then Tom would come and sit beside her, and she would stretch out her hand and he would clasp it in his, and she would forget the existence of Wilga Blake, and be quite happy again. ¶ In Mrs. Hardy´s eyes her husband towered head and shoulders above every other man in the district. He was not really dull, she reflected as- tutely. He only seemed so — some- times. And then he was so solid and honest and true that she could hardly understand how the° had ever contemplated the possibility of eloping with Bert. As for her other admirer, the postmistress frankly smiled to herself as she thought of him. ¶ Broughton was a real perplexity. His handsome bronzed face, with the heavy black moustache, and large, unexpressive, light-blue eyes, re-appeared regularly once a week at the store, and the good-looking grey, tied up to the tree-guard out- side, was condemned to long periods of martyrdom from the flies. Swish his tail and stamp his feet as he would, there was always some dia- bolically intelligent fly that knew exactly the right spot — on the inside of the hind leg — where no amount of stamping or tail swishing could dis- loge it. And then the grey would make a frantic effort to get at the part affected by stretching his hind leg forward and reaching round to gnaw it with his teeth. Yet, deaf and blind to all these tortures suff- ered by the unhappy saddle horse, his master remained in the store, dazzled by the charms of Alice Hardy. ¶ Taking his seat on a candle-box Tom Broughton was accustomed to produce a dirty scrap of paper from his pocket and smooth it out on his knee. ¶ “ A pound er candles, please, Mrs. Hardy, ” he would begin in his most deliberate tones, speaking sot- to voce, `n a bar er soap `n arf er pound er tea — `n three pound er sug- ar `n a packet er cocoa `n a tin et salmon. ” ¶ And then he would rest and watch the object of his admiration as she busily collected the various articles and tied them up into a big parcel with her practised hands. ¶ “ Now, Mr. Broughton, I`ve got no patience with you, ” laughed Alice, on one of these occasions. “ You ought to be married instead of liv- ing over there at Three Tree Hill all by yourself. Surely you can find a girl to take pity on you. ” ¶ But she sunned herself in the silent man´ obvious admiration, all the same, and enjoyed it. And then, as an after thought, she added : “ What about Wilga Blake, now ? ” ¶ An uneasy expression came over Mr. Broughton´s face. ¶ “ Bill´s terror ! ” was all that he said. ¶ But gradually Mrs. Hardy drew him out. He admitted after examin- ation-in-chief, cross examination, and re-examination that he had gone to the hotel on the previous Thurs- day, and had called for a glass of beer at the bar. Bill Blake had ob- ligingly lowered a long `un at the. expense of witness, and had further informed him that his ( Bill Blake´s ) daughter was out, and that the hour of her return was uncertain ? Under the influence of several ad- ditional glasses of beer, Bill Blake observed that Wilga was a good girl, and that he had personally trained her to be a comfort to him in his old age. The absorption of a further quart of liquor was follow- ed by the declaration that he, Bill Blake, wasn`t going to have any d——d scallywags foxing about aft- er his girl, and that it was a com- mon experience of life for them as thought they was welcome to find themselves very much the opposite ! Witness admitted that he had there- upon withdrawn from the domicile of the young lady upon whom he had made up his mind, after three weeks of reflection, to call ; and that he had never seen her since. ¶ Mrs. Hardy considered privately that Wilga Blake could not care very much for Tom Broughton, or she would never submit to be bullied by her old father into refusing to see the owner of the farm at Three Hill.° And then the postmistress began to take an unaccountable dislike to Wilga Blake. Why should that young woman neglect such a desirable sui- tor as Tom Broughton. It was not natural. And why also should she be perpetually talking to Tom Har- dy over the white paling fence that separated Bill Blake´s paddock from the road ? ¶ Mrs. Hardy suddenly experienced a most unpleasant prickly sensation down her spine, and she flushed to the roots of her hair. Could it be possible that there was any connec- tion between Wilga´s apparent in difference to Tom Broughton and her frequent meetings with Tom Hardy ? The postmistress tried re- solutely to put the sinister sugges- tion on one side, but it persisted in obtruding its ugly head. Her own Tom was not like other men — not like the brutes that she read about so often in the newspapers, who left their wives and the moth- ers of their children while they ran after some shameless chit of a girl who had flashed her bold eyes on them in the city. But was she sure of it ? How did she know that Tom Hardy was not just as bad as those others who probably had fool- ish wives to believe in them just as implicity° as she believed in her husband ? ¶ The maddening puzzle kept cropp- ing up again and again, and no solution was possible. She would not deign to ask Tom for any ex- planation, and even if she did she felt sure that he would only laugh at her. ¶ But Alice Hardy´s peace of mind was gone. Nemesis had indeed come to her. ¶ And all that she could do was to watch and wait. ¶ CHAPTER VI. ¶ GATHERING CLOUDS. ¶ “ Shan`t be coming here much lon- ger, ” remarked Bert Milligan gloo- mily as he lugged his mail bags in- to the post office one afternoon a few days later, and handed them over to Tom Hardy. ¶ “ How`s that Bert. Goin` to get married ? ” said Tom, with lumbering jocosity. Bert had quite a reputa- tion in the district for being not a marrying man. ¶ “ Not me, ” said Bert, with a sar- donic scowl. “ I`ve got to be too much away from home to be able to have a wife. She might get lonely. Haven`t ye heard about the monorail ? ” ¶ Tom Hardy explained that he had no time for reading the newspapers. What was in the wind now ? ¶ “ Why, the Government has decid- ed to run an extension of the Bren- nan monorail from Bottlebrush to Waratah Valley, ” said Bert. “ Some kind of political fake, I expect, ” he added bitterly. “ The local mem- ber was down at Bottlebrush last week, an` there`s to be a banquet at ‘ The Diggers ’ Rest Hotel there shortly in his honour. ” ¶ “ My word, ” said Tom Hardy cheerily, “ Waratah Valley is going ahead all right. Things `ll fairly hum when we get the monorail here. Sorry for you, though, Bert. ” ¶ “ Oh ! I`ll get along somehow, I s`pose, ” replied Bert sulkily. “ The Department `ll shove me further back on one of those western trips from Bourke. But them blessed monorails are gettin` all over the country now. There won`t be a run left for me an` “ Black Swan ” soon. ” ¶ “ Faster, I s`pose, ” hazarded Tom Hardy. ¶ “ Of course it is, ” said Bert. “ Why, on the new transcontinental that touches at Bottlebrush the gyroscope mail does her hundred an` fifty miles an hour as steady as a rock the whole time. Rough as a try too. So long. ” ¶ When Tom told Alice at tea ab- out the monorail coming to Wara- tah Valley and Bert Milligan´s im- pending departure, she remarked that business would probably im- prove, and that they had better set about the new wing for the store at once. ¶ So Bert Milligan was going away. Well, perhaps it was better so. Al- though she had always kept away from him since the night of the journey on “ Black Swan, ” she knew instinctively that the volcano in the mailman´s heart was still smoulder- ing. And she distrusted her own heart. It had played her a queer prank once before. It was possible that it might do the same again if she ever laid herself open to the full force of Bert Milligan´s passi- onate pleading. In a flash of retro- spection she remembered a line in a play that her husband had once taken her to see during a brief holi- day trip to Sydney : — “ The future is only the past again — entered throu- gh another gate. ” ¶ Plainy, it was better for both of them that Bert Milligan should go away and never come back again — that she should leave her undisturb- ed in her contentment. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER V. — A SECRET COM- PACT. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ But Wilga´s keen brain and feminine intuitions were working hand in hand. She realised that Tom Broughton had for some time past been under the spell of Alice Hardy´s good looks, and she reflected that she might be able to gather a few hints from Tom Hardy´s demeanor as to whether his wife had manifested any reciprocal interest in the taciturn settler. No one who knew her would accuse pretty Wilga of dup- licity. But still, when she received Tom Hardy at the paling fence with her pleasantest smiles it was not for himself alone. In Wilga´s eyes he was simply a person who might be of considerable use, if properly managed, for helping her with Tom Broughton. She was pretty well convinced already from Tom Hardy´s smiles and hearty approval of Broughton that the bachelor had re- ceived no encouragement from Alice to philander with her. But there was much still to he learnt, and she was determin- ed to make the best possible use of this open-hearted, good-natured fellow, who was frankly devoted to his wife and his home, and yet was ready, out of pure kindness of heart, to help Bill Blake´s daughter in her search for happiness. ¶ And so it was that this spinster Eve presented to the married Adam an apple of temptation, and he swallowed it. ¶ “ I want you to promise me one thing, Mr. Hardy, ” said Wilga, looking quite bewitching as she leaned over the fence, with her big brown eyes smiling up into Tom Hardy´s face. ¶ “ Well, what is it, little girl ? ” asked Tom. “ Can`t promise anything in the dark, you know. ” ¶ “ I want you to promise me that you won`t tell anybody about helping me with — with Mr. Broughton. ” ¶ There, it was out at last, and Wilga suddenly felt that her cheeks were flam- ing. ¶ “ You see, father might get to hear about it, and he`d be sure to perform. ” The plausible reason presented itself in a flash. ¶ “ All right Wilga. ” ¶ “ You won`t tell anybody at all ? ” said Wilga. ¶ “ No, I won`t, ” replied Tom. ¶ “ You won`t even mention it to Mrs. Hardy ? ” ¶ “ N-no, ” said Tom, doubtfully. ¶ “ Well then, say : ¶ “ Wet`s wet and dry`s dry, Cut my throat if I tell a lie ” commanded the young person, with a pretty assumption of authority, and Tom Hardy obediently repeated the sacred formula of childhood before he had time to reflect on the nature of the obligation. ¶ Wilga was anxious that Mrs. Hardy should be kept in ignorance of her hus- band´s intervention in the matter of in- ducing Tom Broughton to come to the scratch ! She had an uneasy feeling that even if Alice took but little interest in her own Platonic admirer she would be unwilling to help on his definite court- ship with another woman. Mrs. Hardy would probably insist on Tom keeping out of the affair altogether. But Wilga could not help feeling that his assistance was absolutely indispensable. There was a good deal of the wombat about Tom Broughton, and when he once disap- peared into his hole at Three Tree Hill he would stay there for weeks, unless firmly and perseveringly dug out. Tom Hardy was the only man in the town- ship who could dig the recluse out with any certainty. ¶ So Wilga, having gained her point, gave Tom a farewell wave of the hand and called after him in accents full of meaning, “ Don`t forget ! ” ¶ “ Rum go, that, ” muttered Mr. Wel- don, who had observed the whole of the little scene from his seat on the veran- dah And then he murmured with ap- parent irrelevance : ¶ “ Well, well, they gallops in all shapes. ¶ When Tom strolled back to the store he found Benny still playing with his opossum on the stoop, but Alice had dis- appeared inside. She was unaccountably short tempered all the morning, but she soon got over her annoyance. It was really too silly to imagine anything so ridiculous. ¶ As the summer changed insensibly into autumn Tom Hardy almost deserted the birthright section on Big Hill. He spent most of his time in his workshop at the back of the store perfecting a new electrically-driven stump-extractor with which he hoped to do wonders, and putting the finishing touches to the wireless telephone which he intended to instal° on Big Hill, so that he could talk to Alice from the section whenever he felt lonely. He whistled cheerily at his work, and never grew tired of answering little Benny´ innumerable questions. ¶ Alice grew strangely happy, too. these days — happier than she could have be- lieved possible. The never-ending round of duties in the store and post office be- came a soothing anodyne for all her un- quiet yearnings, and when she looked from the window and saw her husband cheerily working away in the shed across the little paddock all her vague ambi- tions for a wider life passed away like restless dreams at the coming of dawn. ¶ In the evenings, when Tom had lit his pipe and they sat together on the bench outside the store, they talked over the simple incidents of the day, and her hand would steal into her husband´s as he told her all his schemes for making the birthright section on Big Hill the model farm of the district. ¶ Those were very peaceful days. ¶ Alice scarcely ever saw Bert Milligan now. The mailman came and went in his air machine, but it was Tom who took the mail bags from him and carried them, into the post office. And Bert Milligan, dark-browed, surly, and silent, would mount Black Swan and soar away into the blue and golden sky, wondering at the change that had come over the beautiful woman whose white hands had stroked his curly hair once on that un forgotten night beside the sea. ¶ Still there were occasions, and by no means infrequent ones, when Alice Hardy felt mysterious twinges of pain. Why was this husband, who loved her so much, constantly yarning with Wilga Blake, of mornings, over the neat white paling fence. When she questioned him sharply about it he looked positively guilty, and could only declare uncon- vincingly that Wilga was young enough to be his daughter. Alice reflected bit- terly that there were creatures in the. world, bearing the name of men, who seemed to prefer to spend their time with girls young enough to be their daughters rather than with the women who were old enough to be their wives. It seemed blasphemous to mention Tom Hardy in the same breath with such creatures, and yet there was no doubt that he was very aggravating. Then Tom would come and sit beside her, and she would stretch out her hand and he would clasp it in his, and she would for- get the existence of Wilga Blake, and be quite happy again. ¶ In Mrs. Hardy´ eyes her husband towered head and shoulders above every other man in the district. He was not really dull, she reflected astutely. He only seemed so — sometimes. And then he was so solid and honest and true that she could hardly understand how she had ever even contemplated the possi- bility of eloping with Bert. As for her other admirer, the postmistress frankly smiled to herself as she thought of him. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER V. — A SECRET COM- PACT. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ Broughton was a real perplexity. His handsome, bronzed face, with the heavy black moustache, and large, unexpres- sive, light-blue eyes, re-appeared regu- larly once a week at the store, and the good-looking grey, tied up to the tree- guard outside, was condemned to long periods of martyrdom from the flies. Swish his tail and stamp his feet as he would, there was always some diaboli- cally intelligent fly that knew exactly the right spot — on the inside of the hind leg — where no amount of stamping or tail swishing could dislodge it. And then the grey would make a frantic effort to get at the part affected by stretching his hind leg forward and reaching round to gnaw it with his teeth. Yet, deaf and blind to all these tortures suffered by the unhappy saddle horse, his master remained in the store, dazzled by the charms of Alice Hardy. ¶ Taking his seat on a candle-box Tom Broughton was accustomed to produce a dirty scrap of paper from his pocket and smooth it out on his knee. ¶ “ A pound er candles, please, Mrs. Hardy, ” he would begin, in his most de- liberate tones, speaking sotto voce, `n a bar er soay°, `arf a pound er tea — `n three pound er sugar `an a packet er cocoa `n a tin er salmon. ” ¶ And then he would rest and watch the object of his admiration as she busily collected the various articles and tied them up into a big parcel with her practised hands. ¶ “ Now, Mr. Broughton, I`ve got no patience with you, ” laughed Alice, on one of these occasions. “ You ought to be married instead of living out there at Three Tree Hill all by yourself. Surely you can find a girl to take pity on you. ” ¶ But she sunned herself in the silent man´s obvious admiration, all the same, and enjoyed it. And then, as an after- thought, she added : “ What about Wilga Blake, now ? ” ¶ An uneasy expression came over Mr. Broughton´s face. ¶ “ Bill`s a terror ! ” was all that he said. ¶ But gradually Mrs. Hardy drew him out. He admitted after examination- in-chief, cross-examination, and re-ex- amination that he had gone to the hotel on the previous Thursday and had called for a glass of beer at the bar. Bill Blake had obligingly lowered a long `un at the expense of witness, and had fur- ther informed him that his ( Bill Blake´s ) daughter was out, and that the hour of her return was uncertain. Under the influence of several additional glasses of beer, Bill Blake observed that Wilga was a good girl, and that he had personally trained her to be a comfort to him in his old age. The absorption of a further quart of liquor was followed by the de- claration that he, Bill Blake, wasn`t going to have any d——d scallywags foxing about after his girl, and that it was a common experience of life for them as thought they was welcome to find themselves very much the opposite ! Witness admitted that he had there- upon withdrawn from the domicile of the young lady upon whom he had made up his mind, after three weeks of re- flection, to call ; and that he had never seen her since. ¶ Mrs. Hardy considered privately that Wilga Blake could not care very much for Tom Broughton, or she would never submit to be bullied by her old father into refusing to see the owner of the farm at Three Tree Hill. And then the postmistress began to take an unac- countable dislike to Wilga Blake. Why should that young woman neglect such a desirable suitor as Tom Broughton ? It was not natural. And why also should she be perpetually talking to Tom Hardy over the white paling fence that separated Bill Blake´s paddock from the road ? ¶ Mrs. Hardy suddenly experienced a most unpleasant prickly sensation down her spine, and she flushed to the roots of her hair. Could it be possible that there was any connection between Wilga´s apparent indifference to Tom Broughton and her frequent meetings with Tom Hardy ? The postmistress tried reso- lutely to put the sinister suggestion on one side, but it persisted in obtruding its ugly head. Her own Tom was not like other men — not like the brutes that she read about so often in the news- papers, who left their wives and the mothers of their children while they ran after some shameless chit of a girl who had flashed her bold eyes on them in the city. But was she sure of it ? How did she know that Tom Hardy was not just as bad as these others who probably had foolish wives to believe in them just as implicitly as she believed in her hus- band ? ¶ The maddening puzzle kept cropping up again and again, and no solution was possible. She would not deign to ask Tom for any explanation, and even if she did she felt sure that he would only laugh at her. ¶ But Alice Hardy´s peace of mind was gone. Nemesis had indeed come to her. ¶ And all that she could do was to watch and wait. ¶ CHAPTER VI. — GATHERING CLOUDS. ¶ “ Shan`t be coming here much longer, ” remarked Bert Milligan gloomily as he lugged his mail bags into the post office one afternoon a few days later, and handed them over to Tom Hardy. ¶ “ How`s that, Bert ? Goin` to get married ? ” said Tom, with lumbering jocosity. Bert had quite a reputation in the district for being not a marrying man. ¶ “ Not me, ” said Bert, with a sardonic scowl. “ I`ve got to be too much away from home to be able to have a wife. She might be lonely. Haven`t yet heard about the monorail ? ” ¶ Tom Hardy explained that he had no time for reading the newspapers. What was in the wind now ? ¶ “ Why, the Government has decided to run an extension of the Brennan mono- rail from Bottlebrush to Waratah Val- ley, said Bert. “ Some kind of political fake, I expect, ” he added bitterly. “ The local member was down at Bottlebrush last week, an` there`s to be a banquet at ‘ The Digger´s Rest ’ Hotel there short- ly in his honor. ” ¶ “ My word, ” said Tom Hardy cheerily, “ Waratah Valley is going ahead all right. Things `ll fairer hum when we get the monorail here. Sorry for you, though, Bert. ” ¶ “ Oh, I`ll get along somehow, I s`pose, ” replied Bert sulkily. “ The Department `ll shove me further back on one of those western trips from Bourke. But them blessed monorails are gettin` all over the country now. There won`t be a run left for me an` Black Swan soon. ” ¶ “ Faster, I s`pose, ” hazarded Tom Hardy. ¶ “ Of course it is, ” said Bert. “ Why, on the new transcontinental that touches at Bottlebrush the gyroscope mail does her hundred an` fifty miles an hour as steady as a rock the whole time. Rough country too. So long. ” ¶ When Tom told Alice at tea about the monorail coining to Waratah Val- ley and Bert Milligan´s impending de- parture, she remarked that business would probably improve, and that they had better set about the new wing for the store at once. ¶ So Bert Milligan was going away. Well, perhaps it was better so. Although she had always kept away from him since the night of the journey on Black Swan, she knew instinctively that the volcano in the mailman´s heart was still smouldering. And she distrusted her own heart. It was possible that it might do the same again if she ever laid her self open to the full force of Bert Mil- ligan´s passionate pleading. In a flash of retrospection she remembered a line in a play that her husband had once taken her to see during a brief holiday trip to Sydney : — “ The future is only the past again — entered through ano- ther gate. ” ¶ Plainly it was better for both of them that Bert Milligan should go away and never come back again — that he should leave her undisturbed in her con- tentment. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER V. — A SECRET COM- PACT. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ “ Some women likes `em that way, ” said Mr. Weldon portentously. “ It`s more excitin`. There was little Polly Feeney for one. A young squatter out in the west was mad after her. He would have licked her boots an` hung her all over with di`monds, but she wouldn`t look at him. She went off in the end with a Dago tent-hand that tried to knife me when I caught him monkeying with the pass-out checks. ” ¶ “ A woman, ” said Bill Blake dogmati- cally, “ has got ter be brought up with good judgment when she`s young, an` she won`t kick over the traces when she grows up. Same as a norse. ” ¶ Mr. Weldon gave a grunt. ¶ “ Yer a good `and at an argyment, Mr. Blake, but yer facts is all wrong. What ye say sounds as if it orter be sense — but it ain`t. I`ve trained many a norse in my time. It`s dead easy. But wo- men ! Well, now, jest look at Polly Feeney. Dan Feeney, her father, lar- rupped the hide off her when she was a kid, an` yet she run away with a damned Dago that carried a knife in his boot. ” ¶ This was a staggerer for Bill Blake, but he recovered quickly. ¶ “ I didn`t intend wot I said ter apply ter the ladies of your profession. Mr. Weldon. Ef you want a girl to be a comfort to her father you mustn`t train her fer it by standin` her on a bare- backed `orse in a yard`n a half of pink muslin. But look at my gurl, Wilga. Now there`s a gurl fer ye. ” ¶ “ She`s right enough, is Wilga, ” mut- tered Mr. Weldon, with appreciative re- collection of good meals, “ a fine girl, an` clever in the kitchen — but I dunno about all yer train`. Ye see how it is. A girl natcherally must —— ” ¶ “ I tell you, my girl, Wilga, is that sensible she don`t think about young fel- lers at all, ” interrupted Mr. Blake with quite unnecessary heat. “ She knows that ef she weren`t here I`d have ter hire a nousekeeper. ” Mr. Blake paused to re-light his pipe. “ Ever since her mo- ther died I`ve been tellin` her wot self- ish brutes men are, ” he continued with a sublime burst of candor, “ an` I reckon that she thoroughly understands it by now. No fear of Wilga fallin` in love. Ye see, I`ve trained `er too well. ” ¶ Mr. Weldon smiled enigmatically. Per- haps it was at Tom Broughton, who can- tered down the road on his beautiful horse, Moonlight — the only horse that was left in Waratah Valley. It was registered under the Act as exempt from destruction, “ being retained under con- stant supervision and control for pur- poses of riding and driving. ” ¶ The sharp ears of Mr. Weldon dis- tinctly caught the sound of a window in the hotel being pushed up. And a se- cond later Tom Broughton turned in his saddle and waved his hand. Certainly he was a fine cut of a man. ¶ “ I tell yer, ” continued Bill Blake ob- stinately, with his attention concentra- ted as usual on a pet theory instead of on the facts under his nose, “ my girl Wilga is so well trained that she wouldn`t leave `er old father not fer the best man in the world. She ain`t one of them fly- away sort as `ll waste their father´s time thinkin` about lovers, and sech rot as that. I ain`t never `ad the slightest bit of fear about Wilga. ” ¶ Mr. Weldon nodded sagely. Tom Broughton had vanished round the cor- ner and the quick-eared old man on the verandah plainly heard the window being shut down, slowly and reluctant- ly. ¶ “ Course not, ” he said, cheerfully. “ Ye ain`t never likely to neither. It`ll be all over afore ye hears of it. ” ¶ Bill Blake snorted with contempt. He revelled in the sense of positive certain- ty which comes in its fulness only to those who live in the same place all their lives and have early acquired the habit of bullying their dependents. He had come into contact with relatively few types of character. He had steadily beaten down all opinions opposed to his own. Consequently he had arrived at the comforting view that what Bill Blake did not know was not knowledge. ¶ But Silas Weldon, who had been a cheerful irresponsible vagabond from his childhood, and had moved from district to district and from country to country in the wake of a travelling circus, and had his natural powers of observation so sharpened by contact with the grind- stone of varied experience that he could clearly discern the pig-headedness of the stationary philosopher. ¶ “ Wilga, ” he communed with himself, “ is in love with Tom Broughton, an` he likes her, too, more`n a bit. Ef her old fool of a father can`t see it I s`pose he can`t see, either, that Tom Broughton is fairly dazed, for the time, by the smart beauty over at the store. Not that there`s any real arm in the beauty in spite of `er trips to cloudland with Bert Milligan. She ain`t that sort. An` she`s prob`ly more in love with `er `usband than she ever could be with anybody else. Don`t suppose she cares a row of peanuts about Broughton, any- way. Likely enough he`ll come back ter Wilga in the end. Only one I can`t figger up exackly is that squinny-eyed Joe Peterson. Now wot`s `e got ter do with the beauty, I wonder, an` what does `e butt inter the game at all for ? ” ¶ “ Wot the devil are you mumbling about, Silas ? ” ejaculated Bill Blake, irritably ; “ ye make me feel fair wor- ried. ” ¶ “ Beg pardon, Bill, ” returned Mr. Weldon politely. “ I was jest thinkin` of a blind fakir that I saw once in Bom- bay. The whole world looked the same to him as a lump of coal in a nigger´s pocket. But `e `ad the delusion that `e could see perfectly. `E was knocked down an` killed by a motor car the day we left for Singapore. ” ¶ Mr. Blake was still pondering over the application of this singular reminis- cence when Tom Hardy strolled casually across the road. ¶ “ `Mornin`°, Mr. Blake. Wilga in ? ” ¶ Mr. Blake intimated that Wilga was in. Leastways she was out, out in the little paddock at the side of the hotel, feeding the fowls. ¶ Tom Hardy passed on with a friendly nod to the two worthies on the veran- dah, and next minute he was leaning over the neat white paling fence talk- ing to Wilga. ¶ In her simple, white blouse and short linen skirt, Wilga was a decidedly at- tractive young person. Tom Hardy had always liked her. Moreover, he thought it a real shame that she should be such a slave to her bullying, dogmatic old father, and he was quite prepared to lend her a helping hand if he could. Tom Broughton was a good chap, too, and it was an infernal pity that Bill Blake kept such a tight hand on his daughter and behaved with ill-concealed surliness-to Broughton whenever that diffident individual mustered up enough courage to call at the hotel. Tom Hardy felt that this was a situation in which his tactful help was sure to be appreci- ated. ¶ “ Well, Wilga, how goes it to-day ? I saw him riding past a little ago. ” ¶ Wilga blushed prettily, and her face was full of animation. ¶ “ Oh, Mr. Hardy, I really don`t know what to do. Father gets so cross if Tom even looks at me. And I`m sure I don`t know why. ” ¶ “ Tom been around lately ? ” ¶ “ I haven`t spoken a word to him for more than a week, ” declared the girl with a little pout. “ He hardly ever comes into the township now, and when he does he just calls at the store and rides home again. ” ¶ “ Tom`s a good sort, ” remarked Hardy reflectively, “ but he wants a bit of en- couragement, Wilga. You shouldn`t be so stand-offish like. ” ¶ “ Oh, Mr. Hardy, how can you say such a thing ? I`m sure I`m not stand- offish, but father hardly ever lets me out of his sight. I`m fairly sick of it. ” ¶ Wilga stamped her pretty little foot, and there was just a suspicion of mois- ture in her big brown eyes. ¶ If there was one thing Tom Hardy never could resist it was a tear. ¶ “ There, there, ” he said, patting the back of the little brown hand that rest- ed on the fence beside him, “ we`ll find a way out of the difficulty, little girl, never fear. I`ll have a bit of a talk to Broughton myself. ” ¶ “ Oh, for goodness sake, don`t do that, ” replied the girl quickly. “ He`d be sure to misunderstand, and to think that I wanted him to call. ” ¶ “ Well, don`t you ? ” asked Tom Hardy with a mystified air. ¶ “ How you do take a person up, Mr. Hardy. As if I`d ask Mr. Broughton to call if he doesn`t want to. I`m sure I don`t care if he stays away altogether. ” ¶ There were real tears in her voice if not in her eyes by this time, and Hardy hastily retracted his steps. ¶ “ There now, don`t cry, Wilga. Of course I know you wouldn`t ask Tom to come and see you, but if he were to come of his own accord, you would be nice to him, wouldn`t you ? ” ¶ “ Of course I would, ” said Wilga, the sunshine breaking through the clouds again. ¶ “ Then I`ll take care that he comes — of his own accord, ” said Tom Hardy with a grin. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ Love and the Æroplane. ¶ CHAPTER V. ¶ A SECRET COMPACT. ¶ Wilga was anxious that Mrs. Hardy should be kept in ignorance of her hus- band´s intervention in the matter of in- ducing Tom Broughton to come to the scratch. She had an uneasy feeling that even if Alice took but little interest in her own Platonic admirer she would be willing to help on his definite courtship with another woman. Mrs. Hardy would probably insist on Tom keeping out of the affair altogether. But Wilga could not help feeling that his assist- ance was absolutely indispensable. There was a good deal of the wombat about Tom Broughton, and when he once disappeared into his hole at Three Tree Hill, he would stay there for weeks, unless firmly and perseveringly dug out. Tom Hardy was the only man in the township who could dig the re- cluse out with any certainty. ¶ So Wilga, having gained her point, gave Tom a farewell wave of the hand and called after him in accents full of meaning “ Don`t forget ! ” ¶ “ Rum go, that, ” muttered Mr. Wel- don, who had observed the whole of the little scene from his seat on the veran- dah. And then he murmured with ap- parent irrelevance : ¶ “ Well, well, they gallops in all shapes. ” ¶ When Tom strolled back to the store he found Benny still playing with his `possum on the stoop, but Alice had dis- appeared inside. She was unaccountab- ly short tempered all the morning, but she soon got over her annoyance. It was really too silly to imagine anything so ridiculous. ¶ As the summer changed insensibly in- to autumn Tom Hardy almost deserted the birthright section on Big Hill. He spent most of his time in his workshop at the back of the store perfecting a new electrically driven stump extractor with which he hoped to do wonders, and putting the finishing touches to the wireless telephone which he intended to instal on Big Hill, so that he could talk to Alice from the section whenever he felt lonely. He whistled cheerily at his work, and never grow tired of answer- ing little Benny´s innumerable ques- tions. ¶ Alice grew strangely happy, too, these days — happier than she could have believed possible. The never end- ing round of duties in the store and post office became a soothing anodyne for all her unquiet yearnings, and when she looked from the window and saw her husband cheerily working away in the shed across the little paddock all her vague ambitions for a wider life passed away like restless dreams at the coming of dawn. ¶ In the evenings, when Tom had lit his pipe and they sat together on the bench outside the store, they talked over the simple incidents of the day, and her hand would steal into her husband´s as he told her all his schemes for making the birthright section on Big Hill the model farm of the district. ¶ Those were very peaceful days. ¶ Alice scarcely ever saw Bert Milligan now. The mailman came and went in his air machine, but it was Tom who took the mail bags from him and car- ried them into the post office. And Bert Milligan, dark browed, surly and silent, would mount Black Swan and soar away into the blue and golden sky, wondering at the change that had come over the beautiful woman whose white hands had stroked his curly hair once on that unforgotten night beside the sea. ¶ Still there were occasions, and by no means infrequent ones, when Alice Har- dy felt mysterious twinges of pain. Why why° this husband, who loved her so much, constantly yarning with Wilga Blake, of mornings over the net pal- ing fence ? When she questioned him sharply about it he looked positively guilty, and could only declare uncon- vincingly that Wilga was young enough to be his daughter. Alice reflected bit- terly that there were creatures in the world, bearing the name of men, who seemed to prefer to spend their time with girls young enough to be their daughters rather than with the women who were old enough to be their wives. It seemed blasphemous to mention Tom Hardy in the same breath with such creatures, and yet there was no doubt that he was very aggravating. Then Tom would come and sit beside her and she would stretch out her hand and he would clasp it in his, and she would for- get the existence of Wilga Blake, and be quite happy again. ¶ In Mrs. Hardy´s eyes her husband towered bead and shoulders above every other man in the district. He was not really dull, she reflected astutely. He only seemed so — sometimes. And then he was so solid and honest and true that she could hardly understand how she had ever even contemplated the possi- bility of eloping with Bert. As for her other admirer, the postmistress frankly smiled to herself as she thought of him. ¶ Broughton was a real perplexity. His handsome, bronzed face, with the heavy black moustache, and large, unexpres- sive, light blue eyes, reappeared regu- larly once a week at the store, and the good looking grey, tied up to the tree- guard outside, was condemned to long periods of martyrdom from the flies. Swish his tail and stamp his feet as he would, there was always some diaboli- cal intelligent fly that knew exactly the right spot — on the inside of the hind leg — where no amount of stomping or tail swishing could dislodge it. And then the grey would make a frantic ef- fort to get at the part affected by stretching his hind leg forward and reaching round to gnaw it with his teeth. Yet, deaf and blind to all these tortures suffered by the unhappy saddle horse, his master remained in the store, dazzled by the charms of Alice Hardy. ¶ Taking his seat on a candle box Tom Broughton was accustomed to produce a dirty scrap of paper from his pocket and smooth it out on his knee. ¶ “ A pound er candles, please, Mrs. Hardy, ” he would begin, in his most deliberate tones, speaking sotto voice, `n a bar er soap, `n arf er pound er tea — `n three pound er sugar `n a packet er cocoa `n a tin er salmon. ” ¶ And then he would rest and watch the object of his admiration as she busi- ly collected the various articles and tied them up into a big parcel with her practised hands. ¶ “ Now, Mr. Broughton, I`ve got no patience with you, ” laughed Alice, on one of these occasions. “ You ought to be married instead of living over there at Three Tree Hill all by yourself. Surely you can find a girl to take pity on you. ” ¶ But she sunned hereslf° in the silent man´s obvious admiration, all the same, and enjoyed it. And then, as an after thought, she added : “ What about Wil- ga Blake now ? ” ¶ An uneasy expression came over Mr. Broughton´s face. ¶ “ Bill`s a terror ” was all that he said. ¶ But gradually Mrs. Hardy drew him out. He admitted after examination-in- chief, cross-examination, and re-exami- nation that he had gone to the hotel on the previous Thursday and had called for a glass of beer at the bar. Bill Blake had obligingly lowered long `un at the expense of witness, and had fur- ther informed him that his ( Bill Blake´s ) daughter was out, and that the hour of her return was uncertain. Un- der the influence of several additional glasses of beer, Bill Blake observed that Wilga was a good girl, and that he had personally trained her to be a com- fort to him in his old age. The absorp- tion of a further quart of liquor was followed by the declaration that he, Bill Blake, wasn`t going to have any d—— scallywags foxing about after his girl, and that it was a common experience of life for them as thought they was welcome to find themselves very much the oppos-ite ! Witness admitted that he had thereupon withdrawn from the domicile of the young lady upon whom he had made up his mind, after three weeks of reflection, to call ; and that he had never seen her since. ¶ Mrs. Hardy considered privately that Wilga Blake could not care very much for Tom Broughton, or she would never submit to be bullied by her old father into refusing to see the owner of the farm at Three Tree Hill. And then the postmistress began to take an unac- countable dislike to Wilga Blake. Why should that young woman neglect such a desirable suitor as Tom Broughton ? It was not natural. And why, also, should she be perpetually talking to Tom Hardy over the white paling fence that separated Bill Blake´s paddock from the road ? ¶ Mrs. Hardy suddenly experienced a most unpleasant prickly sensation down her spine, and she flushed to the roots of her hair. Could it be possible that there was any connection between Wil- ga´s apparent indifference to Tom Broughton and her frequent meetings with Tom Hardy ? The postmistress tried resolutely to put the sinister sug- gestion on one side, but it persisted in obtruding its ugly head. Her own Tom was not like other men — not like the brutes that she read about so often in the newspapers, who left their wives and the mothers of their children while they ran after some shameless chit of a girl who had flashed her bold eyes on them in the city. But was she sure of it ? How did she know that Tom Har- dy was not just as bad at those others who probably had foolish wives to be- lieve in them just as implicitly as she believed in her husband ? ¶ The maddening puzzle kept cropping up again and again, and solution was possible. She would not deign to ask Tom for any explanation, and even if she did she felt sure that he would only laugh at her. ¶ But Alice Hardy´s peace of mind was gone. Nemises had indeed come to her. ¶ And all that she could do was to watch and wait. ¶ CHAPTER VI. ¶ GATHERING CLOUDS. ¶ “ Shan`t be coming here much long- er, ” remarked Bert Milligan gloomily as he lugged his mail bags into the post office one afternoon a few days later, and handed them over to Tom Hardy. ¶ “ How`s that, Bert. Goin` to got married ? ” said Tom, with lumbering jocosity. Bert had quite a reputation in the district for being not a marry- ing man. ¶ “ Not me, ” said Bert, with a sardon- ic scowl. “ I`ve got to be too much away from home to be able to have a wife. She might get lonely. Haven`t ye heard about the monorail ? ” ¶ Tom Hardy explained that he had no time for reading the newspapers. What was in the wind now ? ¶ “ Why, the Government has decided to run an extension of the Brennan monorail from Bottlebrush to Waratah Valley, ” said Bert. “ Some kind of political fake, I expect, ” he added bit- terly. “ The local member was down at Bottlebrush last week, an` there`s to be a banquet at ‘ The Diggers´ Rest ’ Hotel there shortly in his honour. ” ¶ “ My word, ” said Tom Hardy, cheer- ily, “ Waratah Valley is going ahead alll right. Things `ll fairly hum when we get the monorail here. Sorry for you, though, Bert. ” ¶ “ Oh ! I`ll get along somehow, I s`pose, ” replied Bert, sulkily. “ The department `ll shove me further back on one of those western trips from Bourke. But them blessed monorails are gettin` all over the country now. There won`t be a run left for me an` Black Swan soon. ” ¶ “ Faster, I s`pose, ” hazarded Tom Hardy. ¶ “ Of course it is, ” said Bert. “ Why on the new transcontinental that touches at Bottlebrush the gyroscope mail does her husband an` fifty miles an hour as steady as a rock the whole time. Rough country, too. So long. ” ¶ When Tom told Alice at tea about the monorail coming to Waratah Valley and Bert Milligan´s impending depar- ture, she remarked that business would probably improve, and that they had better set about the new wing for the store at once. ¶ So Bert Milligan was going away. Well, perhaps it was better so. Al- though she had always kept away from him since the night of the journey on Black Swan, she knew instinctively that the volcano in the mailman´s heart was still smouldering. And she dis- trusted her own heart. It had played her a queer prank once before. It was possible that it might do the same again if she ever laid herself open to the full force of Bert Milligan´s pas- sionate pleading. In a flash of retro- spection she remembered a line in a play that her husband had once taken her to see during a brief holiday trip to Sydney : “ The future is only the past again — entered through another gate. ” ¶ Plainly it was better for both of them that Bert Milligan should go away and never come back again — that he should leave her undisturbed in her contentment. ¶ Alice was preoccupied all tea time. She could not listen to Tom as he me- thodically recounted the various wick- ednesses of the poley cow and the acci- dent that had befallen Cassidy in the course of his attempts to fly down to the bottom of Ryan´s Leap and back again with the scalps of the defunct brumbies. She could not even pay at- tention to little Benny, who was pester- ing her with a view to finding out whether bacon was good for opossums, and why they squeaked when you pinched them round the waist. She was back in the past once more, and she was half dreading that the future might be “ only the past again — entered through another gate. ” ¶ “ Shop ! Shop ! ” The rattling of a stick on the front counter broke in up- on her reverie, and she hurried away into the store to serve the impatient customer. ¶ He proved to be a tall, lean man, with a week´s growth of beard on his face, he bought a huge quantity of stores — bacon, flour, tea and coffee, bis- cuits and sugar, jam and condensed milk. He half emptied the store of its content and then he called out to two other men who were waiting in a motor runabout outside, to come in. They car- ried all the package into the runabout, and the tall man pulled out a cheque and paid the account, which ran into a considerable sum. ¶ “ Will you be wanting anything far- ther presently ? ” inquired Mrs. Hardy, wondering idly who her new customer could be. ¶ “ Not till next week, ” replied the customer. “ By the way, are there any letters here for me — Pascoe, of the railway construction camp on Big Hill. ” ¶ No, there were no letters. Mrs. Har- dy took the stranger´s instructions to retain all his correspondence, which would be called for. ¶ “ I`m in charge of the contractors´ construction gang about eight miles from here, ” he explained. “ We`re building the bridge for the monorail extension from Bottlebrush. ” ¶ With a polite “ Good evening ” he left the store, and buzzed away in the runabout through the gathering dark- ness. ¶ So it was really true. In a few months´ time the new line would be laid, and Bert Milligan would be trans- ferred to some distant part-of the State, perhaps even to some other part of the Commonwealth. While the pros- pect of the monorail was only being talked about Alice Hardy scarcely real- ised what the new condition of things would mean for her. But now that it had been forced under her notice in concrete shape it came home to her with full force. After all, the dark- browed mailman counted for something in her life. The probability that he would soon drop out of it altogether gave her a distinct shock — much as she loved her husband and her child. And then the old haunting fear stole into her mind, and refused to be banished. Did Tom Hardy really love her, or had he been ensnared by somebody else — somebody younger and gayer than her- self, somebody not very far away whom he saw and talked with daily ? ¶ The hateful doubt flushed her cheek with outraged pride and mortification, and honest-hearted Tom Hardy was amazed when he went into the store to find her in tears, for which she could give no explanation. ¶ “ Come now, little girl, ” he said, as he took her hand in his, “ you`ve been doing too much lately. We`ll have to send you away for a bit of a change. How would you like to go up to the mountains for a month with Benny while I stay at home and run the busi- ness ? ” ¶ Alice drew her hand away sharply, her suspicions deepening. Why did he want to send her away ? So that he might ——. Oh, it was too hard, too hard. She compressed her lips and de- clared that there was nothing the mat- ter with her. Now she would certainly refuse to be sent away to the moun- tains or anywhere else. She went back to the little sitting room behind the store more preoccupied than ever, and Tom Hardy was left wondering what strange fancies were oppressing her. ¶ Truly “ the real distances of life are in ourselves — the distance that separ- ates husband and wife, for instance. ” ¶ Next day when Bert Milligan arrived with the mails, Alice was in the post office. She gretted° the mailman with a sad little smile that made his heart bound. ¶ “ It seems months since I`ve seen you, Bert, ” she said. “ Tell me how you are getting on. ” ¶ Bert kept himself well in hand. He was determined not to frighten her again. He told her quietly of all his experiences ; how well Black Swan was flying ; and how with the new engine that had been put into her he could now easily rise to 3000 feet. Then he told her about the new construction ramp at Big Hill. Pascoe, who was in charge, was a very decent sort of chap. Pascoe had told him that the depart- ment expected to have the single line laid and the gyro-cars running inside of four months. The Chief Commissioner, who was an engineer himself, was very anxious to get the job completed as soon as possible. ¶ Inside of four months ! Bert felt something like a real stab in his heart as he thought of it. Was he to say good-bye for ever to this idol of his wild dreams of four months ? He tried to beat down the longing in his eyes, and to curb the madness in his heart as he talked to Alice in the stuffy little post office with its tin roof and dusty window panes, but he was only half successful, and his hand was shaking as he tried to murmur a careless “ So- long ” when he had to go. ¶ “ S`pose you won`t be here to-mor- row, will you, Alice ? ” he asked, hesita- tingly, as he stood with his hand on the door handle. ¶ “ Oh, yes, I think so, Bert, ” was Mrs. Hardy´ reply, in a voice from which all signs of emotion were carefully ex- cluded. “ Tom has to go up to Big Hill in the morning, and it`s likely he won`t be home in time to take the mails. ” ¶ And so they parted. ¶ But the old feeling that she knew so well was back again, and she realised almost with a pang of terror that she did not even wish to quench it. Her intuition told her that in spite of her long silence Bert´s mad passion was un- changed. ¶ Next day, when the mailman came she was mistress of herself again, and Bert Milligan, who had been raised to the seventh heaven by her gentle sym- pathy, was thrust back once more into the depths of depression. She was poli- tely interested in all that he said, but no more. Calm and self-possessed, she talked to him on the safe footing of old acquaintanceship. ¶ Still the new habit of the daily meet- ing was definitely formed, and each day that passed made it more and more dif- ficult to break the light chain that bound them. Alice Hardy felt herself slipping back steadily towards the old perilous relations. She “ saw what was good and approved of it, ” but she “ fol- lowed that which was worse. ” ¶ Often in the night as she lay awake with Tom sleeping beside her she asked herself with a thrill, half of joy and half of terror, where was it all to end. ¶ One morning when she was alone in the store, Joe Peterson shuffled in with one eye as usual directed towards the ceiling and the other furtively endea- vouring to avoid the direct gaze of the person to whom he was addressing him- self. ¶ “ Well, what do you want ? ” inquir- ed Mrs. Hardy, her grey eyes flashing ominously. ¶ “ Jest a plug of the same ole brand, ” said Peterson, laying his sixpence on the counter, “ an` a bit er civility with it ef it`s orl the same ter you, Mrs. Hardy. ” ¶ He sat down on the old battered chair, rested one elbow on the counter, and glared with an altogether new and strange defiance at a tin of kerosene that stood almost at right angles to the line of normal vision. ¶ “ How dare you speak to me like that, you cur, ” said the angry woman, stamping her foot furiously. “ You be- have yourself, ” Joe Peterson, or, you`ll got no tobacco here. ” ¶ “ Oh-ho ! so that`s the way you think you`re goin` ter talk ter me, is it ? ” re- torted Joe. “ Ye`d best be careful, my girl, or ye`ll be sorry for yerself — an` soon enough, too. ” ¶ “ If you dare to speak another word to me, I`ll call my husband to throw you out of the place, Joe Peterson, and give you what he gave you once be- fore, ” said Mrs. Hardy, with suppress- ed passion. ¶ “ Oh, no you won`t, ” replied Joe, with an irritating drawl. “ Besides, yer can`t bluff me. Tom`s up at Big Hill. I saw `im going off a couple of hours ago. An` yer ain`t goin` to tell `im ter throw me out when `e comes back neither. ” ¶ “ There`s your tobacco ; now, go ! ” ¶ “ Not me. I`m too com`fable `ere just at present. ” Joe took a knife from his pocket and proceeded to cut a fill of tobacco with aggravating deliberation. ¶ “ Ye see, my dear, of my eyes are a bit squinny I can see as much as most of the blokes as has got straight ones — an a damn sight more`n some of `em. Remember that ! ” ¶ There was a vicious gleam in the crooked eye as he hissed out the last remark, and Alice Hardy had an instant foreboding of trouble. But she did not show the faintest sigh of weakening in the face of the unknown danger what- ever it might be. She had a heart that fitted with her name. ¶ “ I remember several things about you, Joe Peterson, that I fancy you would be very glad to forget, ” she adds with cold and cutting scorn. “ I re- member that once, when you were drunk — it was three years ago last Box- ing Day — meeting me alone with my baby on the road to Big Hill you of- fered me a brutal insult. I remember that I told my husband about it and that he gave you such a hiding in my presence that you screamed for mercy and didn`t get it. I remember that if I hadn`t told him he had done enough he would have killed you there and then. If you annoy me again I`ll tell him again — and you`ll get another dose of the same medicine. Is that plain enough ? ” ¶ “ Oh, yes, you made a fine song about it just becos I tried to kiss you, ” said Peterson, his crooked eyes blazing with rage, “ an` you got yer hulking hus- band to nearly kill me. But you `aven`t told him about the kisses you`ve `ad from someone else, I`ll be bound. A nice dootiful wife you are, I don`t think. I knows a thing or two about you, my lady, an` I`m going to pay ye out fer that hidin`, ef I`ve got to swing fer it. Have ye forgotten the night ye went out sailin` with Bert Milligan in Black Swan ? I `aven`t, I saw ye go — the night Tom and the kid was away at Big Hill. An` I saw ye come back again, five hours later. An` don`t ye forget that neither. ” ¶ With an evil leer on his twisted face Joe Peterson shuffled out or the store. ¶ Silent, scornful and undaunted, Mrs. Hardy watched him go. Then she sank into a chair and buried her face in her hand asking herself bitterly what new trial Fate could have in store for her. ¶ How well she remembered that scene on the road to Big Hill. She was car- rying little Benny, who was then a year old baby, in her arms, when Joe Peter- son, rolling drunk, lurched suddenly round a corner and caught her by the waist. He tried to kiss her, and she re- called the smell of his foul, beer-laden breath upon her cheek as she pushed bim off with all her strength, and struck him on the face with her full hand so heavily that he stumbled and fell into the culvert. Then that mad- dened race towards the township as she panted along, half beside herself with terror. How heavy the baby was ! And how fearfully the drunken brute behind her raved and cursed as he stag- gered after her until at last, looking over her shoulder as she ran, she saw that he had fallen by the side of the road and still lay there ! ¶ She was hysterical when she reached the store, and when Tom came home in the evening she told him. She had hardly finished the story when, looking through the window, she saw Peterson slinking past. Tom saw him too, and was after him with a bound, leaping on him as a wild creature leaps on its prey. He dragged Peterson into the little paddock behind the store, and hammered him with his fists until the creature fell on the ground and howled for mercy. Then Tom snatched up a green sapling and flogged his victim until the man lay inanimate and no cries followed the furious blows. ¶ “ Tom, Tom, let him go now. He has had enough, ” she cried, and her hus- band, lifting the battered wretch as easily as a terrier lifts a rat, flung him headlong into the roadway and left him there. ¶ The whole scene came back to her as she cowered in the chair behind the counter of the store. She remembered, too, that it was some weeks before Joe reappeared in the township, and months before he dared to show his face at the store. Nobody else ever heard a whis- per of the occurrence, and Peterson was supposed to have gone to some other part of the State looking for work. When he came back he vouchsafed no explanation of his absence, but his crooked eye had a maleful° gleam in it that was not there before. ¶ And this was the man who had pene- trated her secret. She knew that she could expect no mercy from him. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER V. ¶ A SECRET COMPACT. ¶ “ Mornin` Mr. Weldon. ” ¶ “ Mornin`, Mr. Blake. ” ¶ The hotelkeeper and his permanent boarder never forgot their respective positions, and the formal mode of { address continually recurred between } them, even when they indulged in the luxury of sitting out on the ho- tel verandah in their shirt sleeves, and enjoying the first nip of autumn in the air, after the long, hot sum- mer. Deference was due to Bill Blake° in his capacity of proprietor of a flourishing hotel, and Silas Wel- don was entitled to respect as a permanent lodger who paid his way punctually and always drank fair. Late in the evening they might re- vert to Bill and Si, but it was al- ways “ Mr Blake ” and “ Mr. Wel- don ” in the morning. ¶ Across the road Tom and Alice sat side by side on the bench out- side the store, while Benny played with a tame `possum lately caught on his birthright section on Big Hill. ¶ “ Have ye noticed, Mr. Weldon, ” said Bill, “ how much better Tom Hardy an` his wifehave° got on to- gether since the great stampede ? ” ¶ “ Since what ? ” asked Silas. ¶ “ I said ‘ since the great stampe- de ’ ” replied Bill. “ Pah ! ” said Mr. Weldon, and spat viciously, over upon the footpath. ¶ “ No offence meant, ’ Mr. Weldon, ” said Bill, with a touch of dignified hauteur. “ I wouldn`t have reminded ye of that unpleasant day ef I knew that it still hurted ye. ” ¶ Mr. Weldon didn`t answer. “ If it hurted him ! ” — to remember that dis- astrous day when his regular liveli- hood had disappeared over Ryan´s Leap in a wild avalanche of madden- ed brumbies and falling rocks ! and all through that accursed little soap-peddler. ¶ “ I was saying, ” continued Bill Blake, “ that Tom Hardy an` his wife have got ter be a real model couple lately — ever since the — ahem — accident up on Big Hill when she nearly lost Tom and Benny togeth- er. Seems to have brought `em clo- ser to each other like. An` I hain`t seen Bert Milligan aroun` fer quite a while. ” ¶ Mr. Weldon grunted. ¶ “ You`ll see `im back again soon enough, ” he muttered darkly. “ Did ye ever see a fly keep away from a pot er marmalade ? ” ¶ “ I watches him bringin` the mails every day same as before, ” remark- ed the hotel keeper, “ but `e jest shoves the bags inter the post office an` is out of sight with “ Black Swan ” before I can ask him to have a drink. Black-browed beggar he is, too. Terrible temper, I should say. ” ¶ “ Some women likes `em that way ” said Mr. Weldon portentously. “ it`s more excitin`. There was lit- tle Polly Feeney for one. A young squatter out in the west was mad after her. He would have licked her boots an` hung her all over with di`monds but she wouldn`t look at him. She went off in the end with a Dago tent-hand that tried to knife me when I caught him monkeying with the pass-out checks. ” ¶ “ A woman, ” said Bill Blake dog- matically, “ has got ter he brought up with good judgment when she`s young, an' she won`t kick over the traces when she grows up. Same as a norse ¶ Mr. Weldon gave a grunt. ¶ “ Yer a good `and at an argument, Mr. Blake, but yer facts is all wrong. What ye say sounds as if it orter be sense — but it ain`t. I`ve trained many a norse in my time. It`s dead easy. But women ! Well, now, jest look at Polly Feeney. Dan Feeney, her father, larruped the hide off her when she was a kid, an` yet she run away with a damn- ed. Dago that carried a knife in his boot. ” ¶ This was a staggerer for Bill Blake but he recovered quickly. ¶ “ I didn`t intend wot I said ter ap- ply ter the ladies of your profession Mr. Weldon. Ef you want a gurl to be a comfort to her father you mustn`t train her fer it by standin` her on a bareback `orse in a yard`n a half of pink muslin. But look at my gurl Wilga. Now there`s a gurl fer ye. ” ¶ “ She`s right enough, is Wilga, ” muttered Mr. Weldon, with apprecia- tive recollection of good meals, “ a fine girl, an` clever in the kitchen — but I dunno about all yer trainin`. Ye see how it is. A girl natcher- ally must —— ” ¶ “ I tell you, my girl, Wilga, is that sensible she don`t think about young fellers at all, ” interrupted Mr. Blake with quite unnecessary heat. “ She knows that ef she were- n`t here I`d have ter hire a house- keeper. ” Mr. Blake paused to re- light his pipe. “ Ever since her mo- ther died I`ve been tellin` her wot selfish brutes men are, ” he contin- uod with a sublime burst of can- dour, “ an` I reckon that she thorou- ghly understands it by now. No fear of Wilga fallin` in love. Ye see, I`ve trained `er too well. ” ¶ Mr. Weldon smiled enigmatically. Perhaps it was at Tom Broughton, who cantered down the road on his beautiful horse, Moonlight — the only horse that was left in Waratah Val- ley. It was registered under the Act as exempt from destruction, “ being retained under constant sup- ervision and Control for purposes of riding and driving. ” ¶ The sharp ears of Mr. Weldon dis- tinctly caught the sound of a win- dow in the hotel being pushed up. And a second later Tom Broughton turned in his saddle and waved his hand. Certainly he was a fine cut of a man. ¶ “ I tell yer, ” continued Bill Blake obstinately, with his attention con- centrated as usual on a pet theory instead of on the facts under his nose, “ my girl Wilga is so well trained that she wouldn`t leave er old father not fer the best man in the world. She ain`t one of them fly-away sort as `ll waste their fa- ther´s time thinkin` about lovers, and sech rot as that. I ain`t never `ad the slightest bit of fear about Wilga. ” ¶ Mr. Weldon nodded sagely. Tom Broughton had vanished round the corner and the quick-eared old man on the verandah plainly heard the window being shut down, slowly and reluctantly. ¶ “ Course not, ” he said, cheerfully. “ Ye ain`t never likely to neither. It `ll be all over afore ye hears of it. ” ¶ Bill Blake snorted with contempt. He revelled in the sense of positive certainty which comes in its fulness only to those who live in the same place all their lives and have early acquired the habit of bullying their dependents. He had come into con- tact with relatively few types of character. He had steadily beaten down all opinions opposed to his own. Consequently he had arrived at the comforting view that what Bill Blake did not know was not know- ledge. ¶ But Silas Weldon, who had been a cheerful irresponsible vagabond from his childhood, and had moved from district to district and from country to country in the wake of a travelling circus, had had his na- tural powers of observation so sharpened by contact with the grind- stone of varied experience that he could clearly discern the pig-headed- ness of the stationary, philosopher. ¶ “ Wilga, ” he communed with him- self, “ is in love with Tom Brough- ton, an` he likes her, too, more`n a bit. Ef her old father can`t see it I s`pose he can`t see, either, that Tom Broughton is fairly dazed, for the time, by the smart beauty over at the store. Not that there`s any real `arm in the beauty in spite of `er trips to cloudland with Bert Milli- gan. She ain`t that sort. An` she`s prob`ly more in love with `er `us- band than she ever could be with anybody else. Don`t suppose she cares a row of peanuts about Brou- ghton anyway. Likely enough he`ll come back to Wilga in the end. On- ly one I can`t figger up exactly is that squinny-eyed Joe Peterson. Now wot`s `e got ter do with the beauty, I wonder, an` what does e` butt in- ter the game at all for ? ” ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ CHAPTER V. — A SECRET COM- PACT. ¶ “ Mornin`, Mr. Weldon. ” ¶ “ Mornin`, Mr. Blake. ” ¶ The hotelkeeper and his permanent boarder never forgot their respective positions, and the formal mode of ad- dress continually recurred between them, even when they indulged in the luxury of sitting out on the hotel ver- andah in their shirt sleeves, and enjoy- ing the first nip of autumn in the air, after the long, hot summer. Deference was due to Bill Blake, in his capacity of proprietor of a flourishing hotel, and Silas Weldon was entitled to respect as a permanent, lodger who paid his way punctually and always drank fair. Late in the evening they might revert to Bill and Si, but it was always “ Mr. Blake ” and “ Mr. Weldon ” in the morning. ¶ Across the road Tom and Alice sat side by side on the bench outside the store, while Benny played with a tame `possum lately caught on his birthright section on Big Hill. ¶ “ Have ye noticed, Mr. Weldon, ” said Bill. “ how much better Tom Hardy an` his wife have got on together since the great stampede ? ” ¶ “ Since what ? ” asked Silas, ¶ “ I said ‘ since the great stampede, ’ ” replied Bill. ¶ “ Pah ! ” said Mr. Weldon, and spat viciously over upon the foothpath°. ¶ “ No offence meant, Mr. Weldon, ” said Bill, with a touch of dignified hauteur. “ I wouldn`t have reminded ye of hat° unpleasant day ef I knew that it still hurted ye. ” ¶ Mr. Weldon didn`t answer. “ If it hurted him ! ” — to remember that, disas- trous day when his regular livelihood had disappeared over Ryan´s Leap in a wild avalanche of maddened brumbies and falling rocks ! and all through that accursed little soap-peddler. ¶ “ I was saying, ” continued Bill Blake, “ that Tom Hardy an` his wife have got ter be a real model couple lately — ever since the — ahem — accident up on Big Hill when she nearly lost Tom and Benny together. Seems to have brought `em closer to each other like. An` I hain`t seen Bert Milligan aroun` fer quite a while. ” ¶ Mr. Weldon grunted. ¶ “ You`ll see `im back again soon enough, ” he muttered darkly. ‘ Did ye ever see a fly keep away from a pot er marmalade ? ” ¶ “ I watches him bringin` the mails every day same as before, ” remarked the hotel keeper, “ but `e jest shoves the bags inter the post office an` is out of sight with Black Swan before I can ask him to have a drink. Black-browed beg- gar he is, too. Terrible temper, I should say. ” ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER VI. — ( Continued. ) ¶ GATHERING CLOUDS. ¶ “ Ye see, my dear, ef my eyes are a bit squinny I can see as much as most of the blokes as has got strai- ght `uns — an` a damn sight more`n most of `em. Remember that ! ” ¶ There was a vicious gleam in the crooked eye as he hissed out the last remark, and Alice Hardy had an in- stant foreboding of trouble. But she did not show the faintest sign of weakening in the face of the un- known danger whatever it might be. She had a heart that fitted with her name. ¶ “ I remember several things about you, Joe Peterson, that I fancy you would be very glad to forget, ” she said with cold and cutting scorn. “ I remember that once, when you were drunk — it was three years ago last Boxing Day — meeting me alone with my baby on the road to Big Hill you offered me a brutal insult. I re- member that I told my husband ab- out it and that he gave you such a hiding in my presence that you screamed for mercy and didn`t get it. I remember that if I hadn`t told him he had done enough he would have killed you there and then. If you annoy me again I`ll tell him again — and you`ll get another dose of the same medicine. Is that plain en- ough ? ” ¶ “ Oh, yes, you made a fine song ab- out it jest becos I tried to kiss you, ” said Peterson, his crooked eyes blazing with rage, “ an` you got yer hulking husband to nearly kill me. But you `aven`t told him about the kisses you`ve `ad from one° else, I`ll be bound. A nice dooti- ful wife you are, I don`t think. I knows a thing or two about you, my lady, an` I`m agoin` to pay ye out for that hidin` yet, ef I`ve got ter swing fer it. Have ye forgotten the night ye went out sailin` with Bert Milligan in “ Black Swan ? ” I `aven`t. I saw ye go — the night Tom and the kid was away at Big Hill. An` I saw ye come back again, five hours later. An` don`t ye forget that nei- ther. ” ¶ With an evil leer on his twisted face Joe Peterson shuffled out of the store. ¶ Silent, scornful, and undaunted Mrs. Hardy watched him go. Then she sank into a chair and buried her face in her hands, asking herself bitterly what new trials Fate could have in store for her. ¶ How well she remembered that scene on the road to Big Hill. She was carrying little Benny, who was then a year-old baby, in her arms when Joe Peterson, rolling drunk, lurched suddenly round a corner and caught her by the waist. He tried to kiss her, and she recalled the smell of his foul, beer-laden breath upon her cheek as she pushed him off with all her strength, and struck him on the face with her full hand so heavily that he stumbled and fell into the culvert. Then that mad- dened race towards the township as she panted along, half beside herself with terror. How heavy the baby was ! And how fearfully the drunken brute behind her raved and cursed as he staggered after her until at last, looking over her shoulder as she ran, she saw that he had fallen by the side of the road and still lay there ! ¶ She was hysterical when she reach- ed the store, and when Tom came home in the evening she had told him. She had hardly finished the story when, looking through the window, she saw Peterson slinking past. Tom saw him too, and was after him with a bound, leaping on him as a wild creature leaps on its prey. He dragged Peterson into the little pad- dock behind the store, and hammer- ed him with his fists until the creature fell on the ground and howled for mercy. Then Tom snatch- ed up a green sapling and flogged his his victim until the man lay inanimate and no cries followed the furious blows. ¶ “ Tom, Tom, let him go now. He has had enough, ” she cried, and her husband, lifting the battered wretch as easily as a terrior° lifts a rat, flung him headlong into the roadway and left him there. ¶ The whole scene came back to her as she cowered in the chair behind the counter in the store. She re- membered too, that it was some weeks before Joe reappeared in the township, and months before he dared to show his face at the store. No- body else ever heard a whisper of the occurrence, and Peterson was supposed to have gone to some oth- er part of the State looking for work. When he came back he vouch- safed no explanation of his absence, but his crooked eye had a baleful gleam in it that was not there be- fore. ¶ And this was the man who had penetrated her secret. She knew that she could expect no mercy from him. ¶ CHAPTER VII. ¶ THE BRIDGE BUILDERS. ¶ Out on the Big Hill plateau, at a height of two thousand feet ab- ove sea level, the wind blew fresh and keen, but solitude reigned no longer. ¶ Just beyond the line of the strong four-railer that marked where the boundary of Tom Hardy´s birthright section ran down to the edge of Ryan´s Leap, stood nearly a score of tents, pitched under the lee of the crest. These were the tents of the construction gang that had just arri- ved in charge of Pascoe, the con- tractors´ engineer, upon whom de- volved the formidable task of throw- ing a bridge across the yawning chasm two hundred feet wide to con- nect with the tunnel which had yet to be pierced through the solid rock of Mount Baldy on the opposite side. Through the tunnel and across the bridge was to come the mono- rail extension from, Bottlebrush. ¶ The heavy timber on Tom Hardy´s birthright section was all cut down — except one gigantic gum that tow- ered on high like a lonely sentinel near the edge of the abyss. All Cas- sidy´s eloquence could not persuade Hardy to cut down that tree. It had saved his child and himself on the day of the great stampede, and had fairly earned its lite. ¶ In the Crown land adjoining the birthright section a broad swath had been cut through the standing tim- ber. This was the projected route for the monorail, and it stretched away, curving round to find an easy gradi- ent on its course to the distant township whence it would be carried eventually to the coast. ¶ A few small wooden buildings had already been erected near the gap to serve as stores and offices for the contractors´ superintendent and fore- men, and for the Government en- gineer in charge of the supervision, and his inspectors. The solitudes of the bush buzzed with, busy life, and tlie men were hard at work moving the material from big motor lorries into the store. Sections of the great steel tubular booms, girders, bolts, steel castings, and gun-metal plates were already on the ground. Every- thing had been fitted in the Sydney workshops. The different parts were all marked, and Pascoe, as he stood talking to Jim Burn the foreman, threw a quick glance over the scene and smiled a smile of sanguine satis- faction. ¶ “ Everything ready, Jim ? ” he ask- ed. ¶ “ That there steel troughing ain`t come, Mr. Pascoe, ” replied the fore- man, “ but we shan`t want it yet. We can go right ahead now whenever you`re ready. ” ¶ “ Well, Jim, ” said Pascoe, who held a working drawing in his hand, “ you know the kind of job you`re up against this trip, and we haven`s° any time to lose over it either. The boss has engaged to have the bridge built by the first of September, and there`s a fine of £50 for every day´s delay after that. It`s a tough pro- position, but we`re bound to get it through. ” ¶ Jim Burn walked to the edge of the gap and studied the sheer drop to the bottom of the gorge and the. frowning rock face opposite, intent- ly. ¶ “ My word, it`s a nasty place, too, Mr. Pascoe, but the rock`s good an` solid anyhow. None of that wretch- ed sandstone. Reckon we`ll pin her so`s she won`t budge. Two hundred foot span, ain`t it ? ” ¶ “ That`s it exactly, Jim, and there`s a drop of fourteen hundred feet from the top of the arch to the bottom of the gorge. The bridge is of the three- hinged, parallel steel-tube booms, hin- ged at the centre and also at the solid rock-abutments on each side. The deck will be carried by longitud- inal steel girders, supported by ver- tical columns connected to the tops of the booms. The girders will ex- tend over the abutments, and will rest on gun-metal bearing-plates to slide on cast-iron bearers bolted to the rock so as to provide for ex- pansion. The deck will be of wrou- ght steel troughing laid transversely on the tops of the girders and filled in with coke concrete up to the top level. The monorail will be bolted to the top of the wrought steel trough- ing, leaving room for a footpath for inspection purposes. ” ¶ “ Good enough ! ” said Jim, rubbing his hands delightedly, “ simple and strong. I haven`t seen a better de- sign come outer the Engineer-in- chief´s office. ¶ “ Yes, it looks all right on paper, Jim, but you and I are the ones that have to get it across that gor- ge and Ryan´s Leap is a bit of a corker, I must say. ” ¶ “ S`pose we`ll `ave to run a cable- way, won`t we, Mr. Pascoe. No chance to get around in this coun- try, as far as I can see. ” ¶ “ We`ll throw a cable across the gorge right away, Jim, with carriers for the men and material ; then you can put the drills in and get the abut- ments bolted, and go ahead from both sides at the same time. ” ¶ “ Ow are you goin` to get the cab- le acrost, Mr. Pascoe ? ” inquired Jim, scratching his head doubtfully. “ Too fur to swing her, ain`t it ? ” ¶ “ Yes, I`m afraid it is, Jim, but we`ve got to send it across some- how. We`ll have to splice a light line to the end of the cable, and then as we haven`t brought a rocket appara- tus I`ll get the local trooper to take it across on his aeroplane. ” ¶ “ Wot about our men gettin` across to fix the cable end t`other side ? ” inquired Jim. “ Shouldn`t like ter trust ter the trooper. It`s a bit out- side his job. ” ¶ “ I`ll get him to take one of the men across with him in the mach- ine, ” replied Pascoe. “ In ordinary circumstances, of course, I`d have sent men round the gorge to fix the cable end, and I`d have shot the line over with a rocket. But they haven`t sent me up the rocket apparatus, and it`s a long tramp round — forty miles at least. The only track is through Fossicker´s Gap. Far quick- er and easier to send the men over with the trooper. ” ¶ ( To be Continued ).

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER VI. — GATHERING CLOUDS. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ Alice was preoccupied all tea time. She could not listen to Tom as he me- thodically recounted the various wicked- nesses of the poley cow and the acci- dents that had befallen Cassidy in the course of his attempts to fly down to the bottom of Ryan´s Leap and back again with the scalps of the defunct brumbies. She could not even pay at- tention to little Benny, who was pester- ing her with a view to finding out whether bacon was good for opossums, and why they squeaked when you pinched them round the waist. She was back in the past once more, and she was half dreaming that the future might be “ only the past again — entered through another gate. ” ¶ “ Shop, Shop ! ” The rattling of a stick on the front counter broke in upon her reverie, and she hurried away into the store to serve the impatient cus- tomer. ¶ He proved to be a tall, lean man with a week´s growth of beard on his face. He bought a huge quantity of stores — bacon and flour, tea and coffee, biscuits and sugar, jam and condensed milk. He half emptied the store of its contents, and then he called out to two other men who were waiting in a motor runabout outside, to come in. They carried all the packages into the runabout, and the tall man pulled out a cheque book and paid the account, which ran into a con- siderable sum. ¶ “ Will you be wanting anything fur- ther presently ? inquired Mrs. Hardy, wondering idly who her new customer could be. ¶ “ Not till next week, ” replied the cus- tomer. “ By the way, are there any letters here for me —Pascoe, of the railway construction camp on Big Hill. ” ¶ No, there were no letters. Mrs. Hardy took the stranger´s instructions to re- tain all his correspondence, which would he called for. ¶ “ I`m in charge of the contractors´ construction gang, about eight miles from here, ” he explained. “ We`re build- ing the bridge for the monorail exten- sion from Bottlebrush. ” ¶ With a polite “ Good evening ” he left the store, and buzzed away in the run- about through the gathering darkness. ¶ So it was really true ? In a few months´ time the new line would be laid, and Bert Milligan would be trans- ferred to some distant part of the State, perhaps even to some other part of the Commonwealth. While the prospect of the monorail was only being talked about Alice Hardy scarcely realised what the new condition of things would mean for her. But now that it had been forced under her notice, in concrete shape it came home to her with full force. After all, the dark-browed mail- man had counted for something in her life. The probability that he would soon drop out of it altogether gave her a distinct shock — much as she loved her husband and her child. And then the old haunting fear stole into her mind, and refused to be banished. Did Tom Hardy really love her, or had he been ensnared by somebody else — somebody younger and gayer than herself, some- body not very far away whom he saw and talked with daily ? ¶ The hateful doubt flushed her cheek with outraged pride and mortification. and honest-hearted Tom Hardy was amazed when he went into the store to find her in tears, for which she could give no explanation. ¶ “ Come, now, little girl, ” he said, as he took her hand in his, “ you`ve been doing too much lately. We`ll have to send you away for a bit of a change. How would you like to go up to the mountains for a month with Benny while I stay at home and run the busi- ness ? ” ¶ Alice drew her hand away sharply, her suspicions deepening. Why did he want to send her away ? So that he might —— Oh, it was too hard, too hard. She compressed her lips and de- clared that there was nothing the mat- ter with her. Now she would certainly refuse to be sent away to the moun- tains or anywhere else. She went back to the little sitting room behind the store more preoccupied than ever, and Tom Hardy was left wondering what strange fancies were oppressing her. ¶ Truly “ the real distances of life are in ourselves — the distance that separates husband and wife, for instance. ” ¶ Next day when Bert Milligan arrived with the mails Alice was in the post office. She greeted the mailman with a sad little smile that made his heart bound. ¶ “ It seems months since I`ve seen you, Bert, ” she said. “ Tell me how you are getting on. ” ¶ Bert kept himself well in hand. He was determined not to frighten her again. He told her quietly of all his ex- periences ; how well Black Swan was flying ; and how with the new engine that had been put into her he could now easily rise to 3000 feet. Then he told her about the new construction camo at Big Hill, Pascoe, who was in charge, was a very decent sort of chap. Pascoe had told him that the department ex- pected to have the single line laid and the gyro-cars running inside of four months. The Chief Commissioner, who was an engineer himself, was very anxious to get the job completed as soon as possible. ¶ Inside of four months ! Bert felt some- thing like a real stab in his heart as he thought of it. Was he to say good-bye for ever to this idol of his wild dreams inside of four months ? He tried to beat down the longing in his eyes and to curb the madness in his heart as he talked to Alice in the stuffy little post office with its tin roof and dusty window panes, but he was only half successful, and his hand was shaking as he tried to murmur a careless “ So long ” when he had to go. ¶ “ S`pose you won`t be here to-morrow, will you, Alice ? ” he asked, hesitatingly, as he stood with his hand on the door handle. ¶ “ Oh, yes, I think so, Bert, ” was Mrs. Hardy´s reply, in a voice from which all sighs of emotion were carefully excluded. “ Tom has to go up to Big Hill in the morning, and its likely he won`t be home in time to take the mails. ¶ And so they parted. ¶ But the old feeling that she knew so well was back again, and she realised almost with a pang of terror that she did not ever wish to quench it. Her intui- tion told her that in spite of her long silence Bert´s mad passion was un- changed. ¶ Next day when the mailman came she was mistress of herself again, and Bert Milligan, who had been raised to the seventh heaven by her gentle sympathy, was thrust back once more into the depths of depression. She was politely interested in all that he said, but no more. Calm and self-possessed, she talked to him on the safe footing of old acquaintanceship. ¶ Still the new habit of the daily meet- ing was definitely formed, and each day that passed made it more and more diffi- cult to break the light chain that bound them. Alice Hardy felt herself slipping back steadily towards the old perilous relations. She “ saw what was good and approved of it, ” but she “ followed that which was worse. ” ¶ Often in the night as she lay awake with Tom sleeping beside her she asked herself with a thrill, half of joy and half of terror, where was it all to end. ¶ One morning when she was all alone in the store Joe Peterson shuffled in with one eye as usual directed towards the ceiling and the other furtively endeavor- ing to avoid the direct gaze of the person to whom he was addressing himself. ¶ “ Well, what do you want ? ” enquired Mrs. Hardy, her grey eyes flashing ominously ¶ “ Jest a plug of the same ole brand, ” said Peterson, laying his sixpence on the counter, “ an` a bit er civility with it ef it`s orl the same ter you, Mrs. Hardy. ” ¶ He sat down on the old batered° chair, rested one elbow on the counter and glared with an altogether new and strange defiance at a tin of kerosene that stood almost at right angles to the line of normal vision. ¶ “ How dare you speak to me like that, you cur, ” said the angry woman, stamp- ing her foot furiously. “ You behave yourself, Joe Peterson, or you`ll get no tobacco here. ” ¶ “ Oh-ho ! so that`s the way you think you`re goin` ter talk ter me, is it ? ” re- torted Joe. “ Ye`d best be careful, my girl, or ye`ll be sorry for yerself — an` soon enough, too. ” ¶ “ If you dare to speak another word to me, I`ll call my husband to throw you out of the place, Joe Peterson, and give you what he gave you once before, ” said Mrs. Hardy, with suppressed passion. ¶ “ Oh, no you won`t, ” replied Joe, with an irritating drawl. “ Besides, yer can`t bluff me. Tom`s up at Big Hill. I saw I `im going off a couple of hours ago. An` yer ain`t goin` to tell `im ter throw me out when `e comes back neither. ” ¶ “ There`s your tobacco ; now go. ” ¶ “ Not me. I`m too com`fable `ere just at present. ” Joe took a knife from his pocket and proceeded to cut a fill of to- bacco with aggravating deliberation. ¶ “ Ye see, my dear, ef my eyes are a bit squinny I can see as much as most of the blokes as has got straight `uns — an` a damn sight more`n most of `em. Remember that ! ” ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER VI. — GATHERING CLOUDS. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ There was a vicious gleam in the crooked eyes as he hissed out the last remark, and Alice Hardy had an in- stant foreboding of trouble. But she did not show the faintest sign of weak- ening in the face of the unknown dan- ger whatever if might be. She had a heart that fitted with her name. ¶ “ I remember several things about you, Joe Peterson, that I fancy you would be very glad to forget, ” she said with I cold and cutting scorn. “ I remember that once, when you were drunk — it was three years ago last Boxing Day — meet- ing me alone with my baby on the road to Big Hill you offered me a brutal in- sult. I remember that I told my hus- band about it, and that he gave you such a hiding in my presence that you screamed for mercy and didn`t get it. I remember that if I hadn`t told him he had done enough he would have killed you there and then. If you annoy me again I`ll tell him again — and you`ll get another dose of the same medicine. Is that plain enough ? ” ¶ “ Oh, yes, you made a fine song about it jest becos I tried to kiss you, ” said Peterson, his crooked eyes blazing with rage, “ an` you got yer hulking hus- band to nearly kill me. But you `aven`t told him about the kisses you`ve had from some one else, I`ll be bound. A nice dootiful wife you are, I don`t think. I knows a thing or two about you, my lady, an` I`m agoin` to pay ye out for that hidin` yet, ef I`ve got ter swing fer it. Have ye forgotten the night ye went out sailin` with Bert Milligan in Black Swan ? I `aven`t. I saw ye go — the night Tom and the kid was away at Big Hill. An` I saw ye come back again, five hours later. An` don`t ye forget that neither. ” ¶ With an evil leer on his twisted-face Joe Peterson shuffled out of the store. ¶ Silent, scornful, and undaunted, Mrs. Hardy watched him go. Then she sank into a chair and buried her face in her hands, asking herself bitterly what new trials Fate could have in store for her, ¶ How well she remembered that scene on the road to Big Hill. She was carry- ing little Benny, who was then a year- old baby, in her arms when Joe Peter- son, rolling drunk, lurched suddenly round the corner and caught her by the waist. He tried to kiss her, and she re- called the smell of his foul, beer-laden breath upon her cheek as she pushed him off with all her strength, and struck him on the face with her full hand so heavily that he stumbled and fell into the cul- vert. Then that maddened race towards the township as she panted along, half beside herself with terror. How heavy the baby was ! And how fearfully the drunken brute behind her raved and cursed as he staggered after her until at last, looking over her shoulder as she ran, she saw that he had fallen by the side of the road, and still lay there ! ¶ She was hysterical when she reached the store, and when Tom came home in the evening she told him. She had hardly finished the story when, looking through the window, she saw Peterson slinking past. Tom saw him, too, and was after him with a bound, leaping on him as a wild-creature leaps on its prey. He dragged Peterson into the little pad- dock behind the store, and hammered him with his fists until the creature fell on the ground, and howled for mercy. Then Tom snatched up a green sapling and flogged his victim until the man lay inanimate and no cries followed the furi- ous blows. ¶ “ Tom, Tom, let him go now. He has had enough, ” she cried, and her hus- band, lifting the battered wretch as easily as a terrier lifts a rat, flung him headlong into the roadway and left him there. ¶ The whole scene came back to her as she cowered in the chair behind the counter of the store. She remembered, too, that it was some weeks before Joe reappeared in the township, and months before he dared to show his face at the store. Nobody else ever heard a whis- per of the occurrence, and Peterson was supposed to have gone to some other part of the State looking for work. When he came back he vouchsafed no explanation of his absence, but his crooked eye had a baleful gleam in it that was not there before. ¶ And this was the man who had pene- trated her secret. She knew that she could expect no mercy from him.

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER VII. — ( Continued. ) ¶ THE BRIDGE BUILDERS. ¶ “ H`m ! ” ejaculated Jim, dubiously. ¶ He looked down once more into the gloomy abyss, almost beneath their feet. Skeletons of dead horses — the debris of the great stampede — lay thickly among the boulders and the scrub at the bottom. ¶ “ Don`t know as I should care fer the job of goin` acrost with the trooper, ” he remarked pensively. ¶ “ Oh, rot, Jim ! ” retorted Pascoe. “ Surely you`re not losing your nerve, man. Why, it`s as easy as kiss your hand. ¶ “ Of course, Mr. Pascoe — ef you say so, ” said Jim, and the subject drop- ped, although the troubled expres- sion on the foreman´s face sufficient- ly indicated his serious misgivings. He realised that the job was an awkward one. He had to throw a steel wire cable across a two hund- dred feet span with a fall on either side to the gorge of fourteen hundred feet below. Upon that cable would run a carrier for taking the sec- tions of the boom and the rest of the material to the positions marked out as the arch was gradually built up simultaneously from the abut- ments in the solid rock at both sid- es. The carrier would also take the men back and forwards to their work.° Fortunately there was plenty of big timber handily placed for taking the cable at both ends, and the electri- caly generating plant for operating the carrier was already, on the ground. ¶ Mr. Pascoe nodded cheerily to the foreman. ¶ “ We`ll set about sending the cable across as soon as you`re ready, Jim, ” he said. “ Cassidy, the troop- er, will be here directly, and I`ll get him to take the light line across on his machine and make it fast. Then he can come back and take a coup- le of men across, in separate trips, to fix the cable end. You`ll find the gear for running the carrier in the store, and you can send the fitters to put up the plant right away. ” ¶ He disappeared into his office and left Jim Burn to his own reflect- ions. ¶ A man of decision was Pascoe. Difficulties for him existed only to be overcome. He never lost a meal by worrying, and obstacles of every had had a habit of melting away under the powerful solvent of his inflexible determination. ¶ Jim Burn, on the other hand, was always the first to see a difficulty. He was a born pessimist, though a capable man at his job. He always succeeded in the end, but he was a chronic grumbler, which was prob- ably the reason why he had never raised himself to a higher position than a foreman. Just at present he was troubled by a new apprehension. It was all very well for Mr. Pas- coe to settle that the line should be taken across by the trooper, and than° men should then be sent over in the aeroplane to make fast the cable. But would the arrangement be sanctioned by Mr. Banks ? Mr. Banks was the Department´s engin- eer-in-charge, who had the responsi- bility of supervising the contract- ors´ methods. Mr. Pascoe was free to devise any plan that he chose for carrying out the operations, but, if his plan was such as to endanger the efficient performance of the work or to jeopardise the lives of the men, Mr. Banks possessed the right of veto. Jim Burn, who had made a habit of meeting the devil half way, convinced himself that Mr. Banks would not be satisfied with the pro- posed plan, and he was troubled in consequence. ¶ It was just after the mid-day spell for dinner and smoke`ho when the foreman, gazing meditatively along the projected track of the monorail towards Waratah Valley township noticed a black speck in the cloud- flecked sky. The black speck rapidly grew larger, and, in a few minutes Mr. Cassidy, with every silver but- ton on his uniform shining, dropped down quietly and alighted on a level patch of ground close to Pascoe´s office. Pascoe saw him through the window and came out at once. ¶ “ Hullo, Cassidy. Glad to see you, ” he said, with a cheerful smile, ex- tending his hand, which the trooper grasped warmly. “ I expected you earlier, but there`ll be plenty of time to get the first part of the work, at any rate completed before dark. Jim Burn has everything ready. The light line is spliced to the cable, and the sooner it is made fast, temporarily to that big black- butt tree over there the better. I`ll start on the terminal towers to- morrow. ” He indicated a tree that stood about fifty yards from the edge of the precipice on the far side. “ You know this country fairly well don`t you ? ” ¶ “ Bedad, I do that ! ” said Cassidy, removing his helmet to scratch his head and extending his mouth in a wide grin. ¶ “ Ever been over to the other side of the gorge before ? ” asked Pascoe. ¶ “ I hov, ” said Cassidy, “ and down to the bottom uv it too. Lasht time I wuz down I fought I wuz niver goin` to get up agin. ” ¶ “ Bad as that, was it ? ” ¶ “ Indade it wuz, sor. I dhropped nice an` aisy in me little jigger here to set them harses shcalps an` whin I thried to get back agin I cudn`t get a shtart to rise at all at all. Shure that hole there is as hard to get out of as purgathory. Ye can`t go twinty yards in anny direc- tion widout shtrikin` a bowlder as big as a cathaydral. I thried best part uv a day to get a rise out uv the jigger, but I fell back every time like an ould hen wid a bruk leg thryin` to jump on the roost. `Tis a quare place to get intil intirely. ” ¶ “ I`m glad you stuck to it, Cassi- dy, ” said Pascoe. “ How did you get out in the end ? ” ¶ “ Shure I tuk an` hopped her off uv the flat top uv the biggest bowlder I cud find an` at lasht I got a rise out uv her, but me jumper an` pants was shpoiled, an` I tuk a year´s growt` out uv the jigger befure I got clar uv ut. So I hope you`ll not be axin` me to go down there agin, sor, for I wudn`t be afther thryin` it again, not for all the harses´ schalps in the counthry. ” ¶ Pascoe smiled pleasantly. ¶ “ All you have to do, Cassidy is to go across the gorge, not down to the bottom of it, ” he said. “ Off you go. Jim Burn will show you what is to be done. And now you must excuse me. ” ¶ He dived into the office again and shut the door. ¶ Cassidy wheeled his little mono- plane down to a nice level patch near the weatherboard store where Jim Burn stood beside a big coil of well-oiled steel wire cable rolled round a drum. Beside the drum was a light line coiled in sailor fas- hion. One end was spliced to the cable, and Jim Burn held the other end in his hand. The foreman knot- ted the lose end of the line to a stanchion of the monoplane next to the engine. ¶ “ Now then Cassidy, ” said Burn. “ See that big blackbutt right on the top of the tunnel. All you have to do is to make the end of the line fast to it and then come back for in- structions. Off you go. ” ¶ Mr. Cassidy divested himself of his tunic, which he carefully folded and laid on the ground, placing his hel- met, on top of it. Then he wheeled the monoplane backwards about 80 yards from the edge of the preci- pice and took his seat in it, while Burn and half a dozen of the working gang looked on with open-mouthed interest. ¶ The trooper set his engine going and the monoplane began to move. Gathering way rapidly it ran along the level ground on its bicycle wheels and rushed straight for the gorge. ¶ “ Hurroo ! ” yelled Cassidy, as the monoplane flew over the edge of the precipice, and with the front plane elevated in the nick of time, soared straight as a dart for the other side,° the light line uncoiling itself rapid- ly as the aeroplane skimmed on with its propellers humming. ¶ Cassidy circled round, looking for an easy place to alight on, and then the aeroplane dropped to the ground in a small open space. ¶ Untying the line from the stanch- ion the trooper made it fast to the blackbutt, and remounting the mono- plane returned amid the cheers of the working gang. ¶ “ Good man, Cassidy, ” said Pascoe, who had been an interested spectator of the whole achievement from the little window of his office. He had stayed away purposely so as to leave the direction of the small job in the hands of Jim Burn. It would do the foreman good, he considered, to have to bear unusual responsibilities oc- casionally. Pascoe sauntered up to the trooper, who was deprecatingly receiving the enthusiastic congratula- tions of the working gang. ¶ “ Shure that ain`t annything, at all at all, ” remarked Cassidy, as he pre- pared to put on the tunic and hel- met again. Does annybody ilse want a bit uv a shtring fashtened to a bit uv a shtick annywhere ? ” ¶ “ Not just now, Cassidy, ” said Pas- coe, “ but I`ll tell you what I do want. I want you to take a couple of our men across in the machine so that they can get the cableway pro- perly swung and all the gear for the carrier fixed. You can take them one at a time if you like and make two trips of it. ” ¶ The trooper´s jaw fell, and a look of disappointment replaced the air of triumph that had just irradiated his genial, Celtic face. ¶ “ Bedad, I can`t do ut, sor, ” he said. “ Shure me bit uv a jigger is built to carry only wan, an` the min cudn`t ride her without me. ” ¶ Here was an unexpected contre- temps. Jim Burn at once took the worst possible view of the situation. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER VII. — THE BRIDGE BUILDERS. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ “ My word, it`s a nasty place, too, Mr. Pascoe, but the rock`s good an` solid anyhow. None of that wretched sand- stone. Reckon we`ll pin her here so`s she won`t budge. Two hundred foot span, ain`t it ? ” ¶ “ That`s it exactly, Jim, and there`s a drop of fourteen hundred feet from the top of the arch to the bottom of the gorge. The bridge is of the three-hinged, parabolic, arched type. It will be built of two parallel steel-tube booms. hinged at the centre and also at the solid rock- abutments on each side. The deck will he carried by longitudinal steel girders, supported by vertical columns connected to the tops of the booms. The girders will extend over the abutments, and will rest on gun-metal hearing plates to slide on cast-iron hearers bolted to the rock so as to provide for expansion. The deck will be of wrought steel troughing laid transversely on the tops of the girders and filled in with coke concrete tip to the top level. The monorail will be bolted to the top of the wrought steel troughing, leaving room for a footpath for inspection purposes. ” ¶ “ Good enough ! ” said Jim, rubbing his hands delightedly, “ simple and strong. I aven`t seen a better design come outer the Engineer-in-chief´s office. ” ¶ “ Yes, it looks all right on paper, Jim, but you and I are the ones that have to get it across that gorge and Ryan´s Leap is a bit of a corker, I must say. ” ¶ “ S`pose we`ll `ave to run a cableway, won`t we, Mr. Pascoe. No chance to get around in this country, as far as I can see. ” ¶ “ We`ll throw a cable across the gorge right away, Jim, with carriers for the men and material ; then you can put the drills in and get the abutments bolted, and go ahead from both sides at the same time. ” ¶ “ Ow are you goin` to get the cable acrost, Mr. Pascoe ? ” inquired Jim, scratching his head doubtfully. “ Too fur to swing her, ain`t it ? ” ¶ “ Yes, I`m afraid it is, Jim, but we`ve got to send it across somehow. We`ll have to splice a light line to the end of the cable, and then as we haven`t brought a rocket apparatus I`ll get the local trooper to take it across on his aeroplane ! ” ¶ “ Wot about our men gettin` acrost to fix the cable end t`other side ? ” inquired Jim. “ Shouldn`t like ter trust ter the trooper. It`s a bit outside his job. ” ¶ “ I`ll get him to take one of the men across with him in the machine, ” replied Pascoe. “ In ordinary circumstances, of course, I`d have sent men round the gorge to fix the cable end, and I`d have shot the line over with a rocket. But they haven`t sent me up the rocket ap- paratus, and it`s a long tramp round — forty miles at least. The only track is through Fossicker´s Gap. Far quicker and easier to send the men over with the trooper. ” ¶ “ H`m ! ” ejaculated Jim, dubiously. ¶ He looked down once more into the gloomy abyss almost beneath their feet Skeletons of dead horses — the debris of the great stampede — lay thickly among the boulders and the scrub at the bot- tom. ¶ “ Don`t know as I should care fer the job of goin` acrost with the trooper, ” he remarked pensively. ¶ “ Oh, rot, Jim ! ” retorted Pascoe. “ Surely you`re not losing your nerve, man. Why, it`s as easy as kiss your hand. ” ¶ “ Of course, Mr. Pascoe — ef you say so, ” said Jim, and the subject dropped, although the troubled expression on the foreman´s face sufficiently indicated his serious misgivings. He realised that the job was an awkward one. He had to throw a steel wire cable across a two hundred feet span with a fall on either side to the gorge of fourteen hundred feet below. Upon that cable would run a carrier for taking the sections of the boom and the rest of the material to the positions marked out as the arch was gradually built up simultaneously from the abutments in the solid rock at both sides. The carrier would also take the men back and forwards to their work. Fortunately there was plenty of big tim- ber handily placed for taking the cable at both ends, and the electrical generat- ing plant for operating the carrier was already on the ground. ¶ Mr. Pascoe nodded cheerily to the foreman. ¶ “ We`ll set about sending the cable across as soon as you`re ready, Jim, ” he said. “ Cassidy, the trooper, will be here directly, and I`ll get him to take the light line across on his machine and make it fast. Then he can come back and take a couple of men across, in separate trips, to fix the cable end. You`ll find the gear for running the carrier in the store, and you can send the fitters to put up the plant right away. ” ¶ He disappeared into his office and left Jim Burn to his own reflections. ¶ A man of decision was Pascoe. Diffi- culties for him existed only to be over- come. He never lost a meal by worry- ing, and obstacles of every kind had a habit of melting away under the power- ful solvent of his inflexible determina- tion. ¶ Jim Burn, on the other hand, was al- ways the first to see a difficulty. He was a born pessimist, though a capable man at his job. He always succeeded in the end, but he was a chronic grumbler, which was probably the reason why he had never raised himself to a higher position than that of a foreman. Just at present he was troubled by a new apprehension. It was all very well for Mr. Pascoe to settle that the line should be taken across by the trooper, and that men should then be sent over in the aeroplane to make fast the cable. But would the arrangement be sanctioned by Mr. Banks ? Mr. Banks was the De- partment´s engineer-in-charge, who had the responsibility of supervising the con- tractors´s methods. Mr. Pascoe was free to devise any plan that he chose for carrying out the operations, but. if his plan was such as to endanger the effi- cient performance of the work, or to jeopardise the lives of the men. Mr Banks possessed the right to veto. Jim Burn, who had made a habit of meeting the devil half way, convinced himself that Mr. Banks would not be satisfied with the proposed plan, and he was troubled in consequence. ¶ It was just after the midday spell for dinner and smoke-ho when the foreman, gazing meditatively along the projected track of the monorail towards Waratah Valley township, noticed a black speck in the cloud-flocked sky. The black speck rapidly grew larger, and, in a few minutes Mr. Cassidy, with every silver button of his uniform shining, dropped down quietly and alighted on a level patch of ground close to Pascoe´s office. Pascoe saw him through the window and came out at once. ¶ “ Hullo, Cassidy. Glad to see you, ” he said, with a cheerful smile, extending his hand, which the trooper grasped warmly. I expected you earlier, but there`ll be plenty of time to get the fust part of the work at any rate com- pleted before dark. Jim Burn has everything ready. The light line is spliced to the cable, and the sooner it is made fast, temporarily, to that big blackbutt tree over theme° the better. I`ll start on the terminal towers to- morrow. ” He indicated a tree that stood about fifty yards back from the edge of the precipice on the far side. “ You know this country fairly well, don`t you ? ” ¶ “ Bedad, I do that ! ” said Cassidy, re- moving his helmet to scratch his head and extending his mouth in a wide grin. ¶ “ Ever been over to the other side of the gorge before ? ” asked Pascoe. ¶ “ I hov, ” said Cassidy, “ and down to the bottom uv it too. Lasht time I wuz down I t`ought I wuz niver goin` to get up agin. ” ¶ “ Bad as that, was it ? ” ¶ “ Indade it wuz, sor. I dhropped down nice an` aisy in me little jigger here to get them harses´ schalps, an` whin I thried to get back agin I cudn`t get a shtart to rise her at all at all. Shure that hole there is as hard to get out of as purgathory. Ye can`t go twinty yards in anny direction widout shtrikin` a bowlder as big as a cathay- dral. I thried best part uv a day to get a rise out uv the jigger, but I fell back ivery time like an ould hen wid a bruk leg thryin` to jump on the roost. `Tis a quare place to get intil intirely. ” ¶ “ I`m glad you stuck to it, Cassidy, ” said Pascoe. “ How did you get out in the end ? ” ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER VII. — THE BRIDGE BUILDERS. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ “ Shure I tuk an` hopped her off uv the flat top uv the biggest bowlder I cud find, an` at lasht I got a rise out uv her, but me jumper an` pants was shpoiled, an` I tuk a year´s growt` out uv the jigger befure I got clar uv ut. So I hope you`ll not be axin` me to go down there agin, sor, for I wudn`t be afther thryin` it again, not for all the harses´ shcalps in the counthry. ” ¶ Pascoe smiled pleasantly. ¶ “ All you have to do, Cassidy, is to go across the gorge, not down to the bottom of it, ” he said. “ Off you go. Jim Burn `ll show you what is to be done. And now you must excuse me. ” ¶ He dived into the office again and shut the door. ¶ Cassidy wheeled his little monoplane down to a nice level patch near the weatherboard store where Jim Burn stood beside a big coil of well-oiled steel wire cable rolled round a drum. Beside the drum was a light line coded in sailor fashion. One end was spliced to the cable, and Jim Burn held the other end in his hand. The foreman knotted the loose end of the line to a stanchion of the monoplane next to the engine. ¶ “ Now then, Cassidy, ” said Burn. “ See that big blackbutt right on the top of the tunnel. All you have to do is to make the end of the line fast to it and then come back for instructions. Off you go. ” ¶ Mr. Cassidy divested himself of his tunic, which he carefully folded and laid on the ground, placing his helmet on top of it. Then he wheeled the mono- plane backwards about thirty yards from the edge of the precipice, and took his seat in it, while Burn and half a dozen of the working gang looked on with open-mouthed interest. ¶ The trooper set his engine going and the monoplane began to move. Gather- ing way rapidly it ran along the level ground on its bicycle wheels and rushed straight for the gorge. ¶ “ Hurroo ! ” yelled Cassidy, as the monoplane flew over the edge of the precipice, and with the front plane ele- vated in the nick of time, soared straight as a dart for the other side, the light line uncoiling itself rapidly as the aero- plane skimmed on with its propellers humming. ¶ Cassidy circled round, looking for an easy place to alight on. and then the aeroplane dropped to the ground in a small open space. ¶ Untying the line from the stanchion the trooper made it fast to the black- butt, and remounting the monoplane, re- turned amid the cheers of the working gang. ¶ “ Good man, Cassidy, ” said Pascoe, who had been an interested spectator of the whole achievement from the little window of his office. He had stayed away purposely so as to leave the direc- tion of the small job in the hands of Jim Burn. It would do the foreman good, he considered, to have to bear unusual responsibilities occasionally. Pascoe sauntered up to the trooper, who was deprecatingly receiving the enthu- siastic congratulations of the working gang." ¶ “ Shure that ain`t annything, at all at all, ” remarked Cassidy, as he prepared to put on his tunic and helmet again. “ Does annybody ilse want a bit uv a shtring fashtened to a bit uv a shtick annywhere ? ” ¶ “ Not just now, Cassidy, ” said Pascoe, “ but I`ll tell you what I do want. I want you to take a couple of our men across in the machine so that they can get the cableway properly swung and all the gear for the carrier fixed. You can take them one at a time if you like, and make two trips of it. ” ¶ The trooper´s jaw fell, and a look of disappointment replaced the air of triumph that had just irradiated his genial, Celtic face. ¶ “ Bedad, I can`t do ut, sor, ” he said. “ Shure me bit uv a jigger is built to carry only wan, an` the min cudn`t ride her widout me. ” ¶ Here was an unexpected contretemps. Jim Burn at once took the worst pos- sible view of the situation. ¶ “ I was afraid all along that some- thing like this would happen, Mr. Pas- coe, ” he said. “ I s`pose we`ll have to send the men round by Fossicker´s Gap after all, and there isn`t even a bush track from the Gap to the tunnel. It`ll be a delay of two days at least in getting the cableway fixed, and we can`t spare even one day by rights. ” ¶ “ Nonsense, Jim, ” said Pascoe curtly, “ we`re not beaten yet. I`ll find some way of getting the men across. If it wasn`t for Mr. Banks, I`d get Cassidy to haul the cable over and make it fast himself, so that we could send a couple of men over in a makeshift carrier, but Banks would be sure to object, and I don`t want to risk an accident, if I can help it. I`ll take five minutes to think it over. ” The engineer lit his pipe to assist his meditations, and began to pace back and forwards, deep in thought. ¶ “ Silence fell on the little group that was gathered beside the drum on which the great steel cable was rolled in readi- ness for its work, and one by one, the men slipped away to their various tasks until nobody was left except Pascoe, Cassidy and Jim Burn. But all at once the silence was broken by a distant hum- ming like the sound of a humming bee, and, as Cassidy´s practised ears caught the measured pulsation, he jumped with excitement. ¶ “ Bedad, I hov it ! ” he exclaimed, driv- ing his right fist into the hollow of his left palm exultantly. “ `Tis Bert Milli- gan in the Black Swan. He`s on his thrip back to Bottlebrush wid the mails. If we can make him hear us, he`ll shtop an` unload the mail bags an` take a couple of men acrost the hole for ye as aisy as diggin` spuds. ” ¶ Looking up into the afternoon sky the three watches saw the mailman´s big bi-plane flying straight towards them from the direction of Waratah Valley, but very high up. This was Bert´s usual course. He steered to clear Big Hill and then to cross the gorge, keeping practically the same route as the sur- veyed monorail track all the way to Bottlebrush. ¶ “ Do you think you can signal him to stop, Cassidy ? ” asked Pascoe. ¶ “ Faix, I`ll thry, annyway, ” replied the trooper, as he drew a whistle from his pocket and blew a long blast. But the aeroplane neld° on its course unswerv- ingly. It was immediately over Big Hill already, but fully a thousand feet above them. ¶ A second shrill blast from the trooper´s whistle failed to make the slightest im- pression on the speed or course of the bi-plane, and the watchers gave a gasp of disappointment as they grasped the fact that the signal was unnoticed. ¶ Cassidy threw his head hack, placed his hands before his mouth, and emitted a “ coo-ee ” that nearly split the ears of the listeners. But the mailman appa- rently did not haer° it. At any rate, he held on his way without the slightest deviation. ¶ “ Shure, he must be in love, ” said Cas- sidy cynically, “ if he can`t hear that. `Tis a quare thing how the t`ought uv a woman can shtop a man´s ears intirely. ” ¶ “ How the deuce could he hear you at that height ? ” said Pascoe, who always kept his wits about him in emergencies. Can`t you understand that the booming of his propellers is quite sufficient to prevent him from hearing any noise that you can possibly make down here ? ” ¶ “ True enough, ” said Cassidy with a crestfallen air as Black Swan soared right over the heads of the watchers and flew above Ryan´s Leap steady as a hom- ing pigeon. ¶ “ A sovereign if you can catch him and bring him back, Cassidy, ” said Pascoe quietly. ¶ “ Hurroo ! I`ll do ut, ” yelled the trooper. “ The jigger has a turn uv fut whin she likes, an`, bedad, I`ll make her stip it out this day. ” ¶ With his usual impulsiveness he rush- ed to the monoplane, flung himself into the driving seat and once more rattled the machine down to the edge of the precipice and hurled it and himself into space. With a quick turn of the wrist he elevated the plane to its limit, and the machine, obedient to his touch, soar- ed quickly to an immense height and flew at topmost speed in pursuit of Black Swan. ¶ This was a new experience that tho- roughly appealed to Cassidy. He had rid- den many a steeplechase in earlier days, and a race of any kind sent a thrill of ecstacy through his veins. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER VII. — THE BRIDGE BUILDERS. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ Leaning forward so as to oppose as little resistance as possible to the wind pressure, he opened out his engine to its fullest extent, and the monoplane whizzed along at a good fifty miles an hour. He could see Black Swan straight ahead, and he felt that he was gradually overtaking her, but still the speed was not fast enough to satisfy him. ¶ “ Be the powers, it`s neck or nothin` this thrip, ” he muttered. “ The win`s behind me right enough, but I`d be apt to get a bit more uv ut if I wuz a bit higher. ” He gave the plane another inch of elevation and rose a couple of hundred feet. ¶ Sure enough he struck a new stratum of the atmosphere at the higher level and found a forty mile an hour breeze that drove him along at a terrifically increased speed. ¶ “ Bedad, this is thravellin`, ” said Cas- sidy to himself with gusto. “ Shure, I`ll bate him aisy if the jigger don`t go to pieces. ” ¶ The monoplane began to pitch and sway alarmingly as it tore along before a breeze that was almost half a gale. One tremendous lurch almost shot Cas- sidy out of the driving seat, but he re- covered himself by gripping the stan- chion beside him. ¶ “ Faix, I wuz nearly out uv the saddle that time, ” muttered the trooper, “ an` a fall uv half a mile wid no feather bed to catch me ayther. ” ¶ Hardly was he back in his seat when the monoplane gave another awful lurch. ¶ “ Hould up, ye devil, ” he roared, and then he added, “ shure` tis too good to lasht annyway. I t`ink I`ll be dhroppin` her down to the two t`ousand fut agin. ” ¶ He depressed the plane an inch or two and the machine glided slightly down- wards, the engine still whirring at top speed. ¶ The trooper was soon in a compara- tively quiet atmosphere again, but his break-neck burst with the strong wind behind him at the upper level had done him good service. Looking down below him he saw that he had actually over- hauled Black Swan already. Another turn of the lever brought the monoplane down to the same level as the bi-plane. ¶ The mailman, unconscious of his pur- suer. was travelling along at a steady speed of thirty-five miles an hour. Wrapped in his thoughts he saw nothing but the contour of the well-known ranges, heard nothing but the loud booming of the propellers. Automati- cally he noted each landmark of his aerial route as it came into view, and altered course accordingly, but the cur- rent of his thoughts never changed. It was as though two persons occupied the driving seat of Black Swan. One was the skilful aeroplanist, the other was the lover of Alice Hardy. The mechani- cal section of Bert Milligan´s brain was working perfectly, but it was absolutely detached from all the delicate machinery of emotionalism. ¶ The mailman was completely absorbed in his thoughts. He fancied that he could still l feel at his side the presence of the woman who had sat there when he drove Black Swan on that eventful night journey to the sea coast — the wo- man who had been so angry with him on that night and who had since been so strangely gracious. He warmed his heart with the hope that she still cared for him, and that some day she would come away with him for ever from Wara- tah Valley, sitting beside him in that same empty seat. ¶ “ Milligan ! Milligan ! Hold hard there, Bert Milligan ! ” ¶ What was that strange cry that sud- denly penetrated his consciousness ? It seemed to come from the sky itself like a cry of warning. ¶ The mailman actually trembled. Sure- ly he could not be losing his nerve and beginning to hear voices from the un- seen. ¶ “ Hullo, there, Bert Milligan ! Why the blazes don`t ye shtop ? Shure I`ve caught ye fairly ! ” ¶ The startled driver of Black Swan looked out and saw beside him the rush- ing monoplane, from which projected Mr. Cassidy´s head, now helmetless. As the two machines sped onward side by side at an altitude of some twelve hun- dred feet above the surface of the earth, Cassidy told his tale in excited gasps. Bert Milligan was badly wanted, back at Ryan´s Leap. The monorail bridge would be delayed if he did not give his help. ¶ “ Shwing her around at wanst, if ye can, Bert, ” shouted Cassidy, “ an` we`ll be back in half a jiffey. Shure a few min- utes here or there won`t matther to the bits uv letthers in yer bag at all at all. ” ¶ So it came about that Bert Milligan did “ Shwing her around at wanst, ” and returned with Cassidy to the scene of the bridge-building. Fate, weaving and interweaving the threads of human lives, had reached out in mid-air and grasped the strand of Bert Mlligan´s° existence purposing to weave it into the coil of a most singular retribution.

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ CHAPTER VII. — ( Continued. ) ¶ THE BRIDGE BUILDERS. ¶ “ I was afraid all along that some- thing like this would happen, Mr. Pascoe, ” he said, “ I s`pose we`ll have to send the men round by Fos- sicker´s Gap after all, and there isn`t even a bush track from the Gap to the tunnel. It`ll be a delay of two days at least in getting the cable- way fixed, and we can`t spare even one day by rights. ” ¶ “ Nonsense Jim, ” said Pascoe cur- tly, “ we`re not beaten yet. I`ll find some way of getting the men across. If it wasn`t for Mr. Banks, I`d get Cassidy to haul the cable over and make it fast himself, so that we could send a couple of men over in a makeshift carrier, but Banks would be sure to object, and I don`t want to risk an accident, if I can help it. I`ll take five minutes to think it over. ” The engineer lit his pipe to assist his meditations, and began to pace back and forwards, deep in thought. ¶ Silence fell on the little group that was gathered beside the drum on which the great steel cable was roll- ed in readiness for its work, and, one by one, the men slipped away to their various tasks until nobody was left except Pascoe, Cassidy, and Jim Burn. But all at once the sil- ence was broken by a distant hum- ming like the sound of a humming bee, and, as Cassidy´s practised ears caught the measured pulsation, he jumped with excitement. ¶ “ Bedad, I hov ut ! ” he exclaimed, driving his right fist into the hol- low of his left palm, exultantly. “ `Tis Bert Milligan in “ Black Swan. ” He`s on his thrip back to Bottlebrush wid the mails. If we can make him hear us he`ll shtop an` unload the mail bags an` take a couple of min acrost the hole for ye aisy us diggin` spuds. ” ¶ Looking up into the afternoon sky the three watchers saw the mailman´s big bi-plane flying straight towards them from the direction of Waratah Valley, but very high up. This was Bert´s usual course. He steered to clear Big Hill and then to cross the gorge, keeping practically the same route as the surveyed monorail track all the way to Bottlebrush. ¶ “ Do you think you can signal him to stop, Cassidy ? ” asked Pascoe. ¶ “ Faix, I`ll turn annyway, ” replied the trooper, as he drew a whistle from his pocket and blew a long blast but the aeroplane held on its course unswervingly. It was immediately over Big Hill already, but fully a thousand feet above them. ¶ A second shrill blast from the troo- per´s whistle failed to make the slightest impression on the speed or course of the bi-plane, and the watch- ers gave a gasp of disappointment as they grasped the fact that the signal was unnoticed. ¶ Cassidy threw his head back, plac- ed his hands before his mouth, and emitted a “ coo-ee ” that nearly split the ears of the listners°. But the mailman apparetly° did not hear it. At any rate, he held on his way without the slightest deviation. ¶ “ Shure, he must be in love, ” said Cassidy cynically, if he can`t hear it. `Tis a quare thing how the t`ought uv a woman can shtop a man´s ears intirely. ” ¶ “ How the deuce could he hear you at that height ? ” said Pascoe, who always kept his wits about him in emergencies. Can`t you understand that the booming of his own propell- ers is quite sufficient to prevent him from hearing any noise that you can possibly make down here ? ” ¶ “ True enough, ” said Cassidy with a crestfallen air as “ Black Swan ” soared right over the heads of the watchers and flew above Ryan´s Leap steady as a homing pigeon. ¶ “ A sovereign if you can catch him and bring him back, Cassidy, ” said Pascoe quietly. ¶ “ Hurroo ! I`ll do ut, ” yelled the trooper. “ The jigger has a turn uv but whin she likes an`, bedad, I`ll make her stip it out this day. ” ¶ With his usual impulsiveness he rushed to the monoplane, flung him- self into the driving seat and once more rattled the machine down to the edge of the precipice and hurled it and himself into space. With a quick turn of the wrist he elevated the plane to its limit, and the machine, obedient to his touch, soar- ed quickly to an immense height and flew at topmost speed in pursuit of “ Black Swan. ” ¶ This was a new experience that thoroughly appealed to Cassidy. He had ridden many a steeplechase in his early days, and a race of any kind sent a thrill of ecstasy through his veins. ¶ Leaning forward so as to oppose as little resistance as possible to the wind pressure, he opened out his en- gine to its fullest extent, and the monoplane whizzed along at a good fifty miles an hour. He could see “ Black Swan ” straight ahead, and he felt he was gradually overtaking her, but still the speed was not fast enough to satisfy him. ¶ “ Be the powers, it`s neck or no- thin` this thrip, ” he muttered. “ The win`s behind me right enough, but I`d be apt to get a bit more uv ut if I wuz a bit higher. ” He gave the plane another inch of elevation and rose a couple of hundred feet. ¶ “ Sure enough he struck a new stra- tum of the atmosphere at the higher level and found a forty mile an hour breeze that drove him along at a terrifically increased speed. ¶ “ Bedad, this is thravellin`, ”said Cassidy to himself with gusto. “ Shure, I`ll bate him aisy if the jig- ger don`t go to pieces. ” ¶ The monoplane began to pitch and sway alarmingly as it tore along be- fore a breeze that was almost half a gale. One tremendous lurch almost shot Cassidy out of the driving seat, but he recovered himself by gripping the stanchion beside him. ¶ “ Faix, I wuz nearly out uv the saddle that time, ” muttered the trooper, “ an` a fall uv half a mile wid no feather bed to catch, me ay- ther. ” ¶ Hardly was he back in his seat when the monoplane gave another awful lurch. ¶ “ Hould up, ye divil, ” he roared, and then he added, “ shure `tis too good to lasht annyway. I t`ink I`ll be dhroppin` her down to the two t`ousand fut agin. ” ¶ He depressed the plane an inch or two and the machine glided slightly downwards, the engine still whirring at top speed. ¶ The trooper was soon in a compar- atively quiet atmosphere again but his break-neck burst with the strong wind behind him at the upper level had done him good service. Looking down below he saw that he had ac- tually overhauled “ Black Swan ” al- ready. Another turn of the lever brought the monoplane down to the same level as the bi-plane. ¶ The mailman, unconscious of his pursuer, was travelling along at a steady speed of thirty-five miles an hour. Wrapped in his thoughts he saw nothing but the contour of the well-known ranges, heard nothing but the loud booming of the propellers. Automatically he noted each land- mark of his aerial route as it came into view, and altered course accord- ingly, but the current of his thou- ghts never changed. It was as thou- gh two persons occupied the driving seat of “ Black Swan. ” One was the skilful aeroplanist, the other was the lover of Alice Hardy. The mechani- cal section of Bert Milligan´s brain was working perfectly, but it was absolutely detached from all the de- licate machinery of emotionalism. ¶ The mailman was completely ab- sorbed in his thoughts. He fancied that he could still feel at his side the presence of the woman who had sat there when he drove “ Black Swan ” of that eventful night journey to the sea coast — the woman who had been so angry with him on that night and who had since been so strangely gracious. He warmed his heart with the hope that she still cared for him, and that some day she would come away with him for ever from Wara- tah Valley, sitting beside him in that same empty seat. ¶ “ Milligan ! Milligan ! Hold hard there, Bert Milligan ! ” ¶ What was that strange cry that suddenly penetrated his conscious- ness ? It seemed to come from the sky itself like a cry of warning. ¶ The mailman actually trembled. Surely he could not be losing his nerve and beginning to hear voices from the unseen. ¶ “ Hullo, there, Bert Milligan ! Why the blazes don`t ye shtop ? Shure I`ve caught ye fairly ! ” ¶ The startled driver of “ Black Swan ” looked out and saw beside him the rushing monoplane, from which projected Mr. Cassidy´s head, now helmetless. As the two machi- nes sped onward side by side at an altitude of some twelve hundred feet above the surface of the earth, Cas- sipy° told his tale in exciteu° gasps. Bert Milligan was badly wanted, back at Ryan´s Leap. The monorail bridge would be delayed if he did not give his help. ¶ “ Shwing her around at wanst, if ye can, Bert, ” shouted Cassidy, “ an` we`ll be back in half a jiffey. Shure a few minutes here or there won`t matther to the bits uv letth- ers in yer bag at all at all. ” ¶ So it came about that Bert Milli- gan did “ shwing her around at wan- st, ” and returned with Cassidy to the scene of the bridge-building. Fate, weaving and interweaving the threads of human lives, had reached out in mid-air and grasped the strand of Bert Milligan´s existence purposing to weave it into the coil of a most singular retribution. ¶ CHAPTER VIII. ¶ LOVE THAT TRUSTS. ¶ It was a very simple matter for the mailman to transport a cou- ple of the contractors´ men across the gorge, and Joe Black and Alf. Kiggins thoroughly enjoyed the ex- perience. They were taken across se- parately, with tucker and blankets, and with instructions to make fast the cable end temporarily, and fix the running gear for the carrier. Bert landed Joe Black first and Alf. Kig- gins after him almost at the foot of the big blackbutt tree, and then, waving his hand in farewell to Pas- coe, Cassidy, and Jim Burn on the other side of the gorge, he rose with “ Black Swan ” and resumed his interrupted journey to Bottlebrush. ¶ Thus it was that Alice Hardy´s dark-browed lover unhronsciously° for- ged a link in the chain of Destiny. ¶ The wire cable that was to make possible the erection of the bridge for the monorail was stretched across the chasm securely moored to a big blue gum on the side where the camp on the construction gang was pitched, and on the other side to the blackbutt directly above the mouth at the tunnel. In due course it would be connected with proper to- wers. ¶ Next day the carrier was running on the cable, and men and material could be transported freely back- wards and forwards at the will of the resourceful Pascoe. ¶ The work of preparation went bris- kly on, and even Jim Burn forgot his pessimism as he bustled round the piles of tubes and girders, steel castings and gun-metal plates, identi- fying each separate piece by the number that it bore and comparing it with the corresponding entry in the list that he held in his hand. ¶ Tom Hardy leaning over the four- rail fence that divided little Ben- ny´s birthright section from the area of the engineering operations, surveyed the scene with genuine in- terest. A handy man was Hardy, with a natural apitude° for every kind of mechanical work, and he quickly established friendly relations with Pascoe and Jim Burn, catching sight of Pascoe standing at the door of his office, Hardy vaulted over the fence and congratulated him warm- ly on the progress of the work. ¶ “ Oh yes I think we shall do all right now, ” said Pascoe, with a confident smile. “ I`d have an easier time if Jim Burn was not so ready to find difficulties, but I expect we`ll worry along somehow. He`s been croaking about the abutments already. ” ¶ “ What`s the trouble about them ? ” ¶ “ No trouble at all on this side. We can fix them easily ; but it`s going to be just a bit awkward on the ot- her side on account, of the brow of the cliff overhanging the gorge so much. ” ¶ {“ The men can`t climb down the} face of the cliff, I s`pose ? ” ¶ “ That`s it. The cliff has almost a sheer drop to the bottom. The only possible way of getting at the site for the abutments is from above, and the overhanging rock just stops us. Of course, I could put in a charge and blast out the overhang, but I don`t want to do that if I can manage it any other way. ” ¶ ( To be Continued. )

Love and the Æroplane. CHAPTER VII. THE BRIDGE BUILDERS. Out on the Big Hill plateau, at a height of two thousand feet ahovo sea Jovel, the wind blew frcih and keen, bnt solitudo reigned no longer. ' 'Just beyond the lino of . tbo strong fonr-raller that marked-whero the boun- 4 dary of Tom Hardy's birthright arc- tlon ran down to tbo edge of Ryan's Leap, stood ! ' nearly a aeoro of tents, pitched under the Ice of the crest. Thcso were the- tents , of the construction gang that has just arrived In charge of Pas tor, the- contractors' engineer, upon whom devolved tho forinblahto task of throwing a brblgd across the yawning chasm two hundred feet wldo to con nect with tbo tunnel whieh had yet to ho pierced through tho solid rock of Mount . Baldy on t|io opposlto side. Through tbo tunnel and across tbo bridgo was to romo the monorail ex tension from Bottlcbmsh. Tbo heavy timber on Tom ITardy's birthright section was all cut down— except ono gigantic gum that towered . .on high liko a lonely sentinel near tho . edge of tho abyss. All Cassldy's elo- queneo could ' aot persuade Hardy to cut down that tree. It had saved his child and himself on the day of tbo great stampede, and had fairly earned its life. In tho Crown land adjoining tho birth right section a broad swath bad been cut through tho standing timber.. This was tbo projeeted routo for tho mono rail. and it stretched away, curving round to 2nd an easy gradient on its -course to tbo distont township, wheaco it would bo carried eventually to the coast. . A few small wooden buildings had al ready been erected near the gap to servo as stores and offices for the con- . .tractors' superintendent and foremen, , and . fo tho Government engineer ' la ( ehargo of. the supervision, and bis In spectors. Tho solitudes of the bush . busxed with busy life, and the men were hard at work' moving tho material | from big motor lorries into the store. 'Sections of the great steel tubular booms,' girders,. -bolts, tseel castings, and gun-metal plates were already on tbo ground. Everything bad been fitted In tho Sydney workships. Tho different parts were ail marked,' and Pascoe, ns ho stood talking to Jim Burn, tho fore man, throw a quick glance over the ' neono and smiled a smile of genuiuq , satisfaction. "Everything ready. Jlmf' ho ask ed "That thoro ' steel troughlng ain 't como,- Mr.' ..Pascoe," . . replied tho fore- : -man, '/but wo Shan't want It yot. Wo can go right ahead now whenovor yon v .-aro ready.".- t- "Weil, Jljn," said Pascoe, who hold a working, drawing In his baud, "you - know tho kind of job youro up against this trip, -and wo haven't any timo to loso over It olthor.' Tho boss has 4u- > -gaged to bavo the. bridgo built, by tho -first of. September,. nnd thoro 's a fino ' -for every day's delay after that. It's a tough proposition, . but we're bound ' ' to. got It . through." " Jlra Burn walked to tho odge of tho gap, and. studied, tho sheer drop to the bottom/of tho 'gorgo and tho frowning rock .fhco opposite, Intently, ... .VMy. word, it's. n nasty. place? too, \Mr. raecoo, but tho rock's good an' 'solid "anyhow. Nono of that wretched V- - sandstone. ' Reckon we'll jdu her here . . . ' . ao's sho won't :budgo. Two hundrod foot span; ain't it " . . "Tliot's It exaetiy, -Jim, and thoro 's . ft ,drop of fourtdoh hundred foot from x ' tho top of tho. arch to tbo bottom' of tho gorgo. The bridgo la of tbo three- " hinged, jfarabolic arched typo. It will bo. .built : of two parallel stool tube booms, hinged at tbo ccntro and .also-at the solid rock nbutmcnta on each side. , Tjja deck will bo earrieit by longitudin-; . al steel' girders, supported by vortical . columns connected to the tops of the . booms. '-Tba girders will cxtond over ..." |h'o' 'abutments,- and will reat qn. gun- motal bearlng plates to slide. on cost- viron boarors bolted to the. rock :.so as to - .provide for expansion. Tho deck will bo of . wrought . .stcol', trough lug, .laid . ? trausvorauly on tho tops of tho glrdors . ' ftnd; flttod'in wltk cokq concroto up to ...; tho top-lovol. Tho:.monorall will 'bo < lioltod' to tho -top of the' wrought stool - trougblng, leaving room for a footpath for Joupoction -purposes." ' . -"Good enough " sald Jini, rubbing . - his; bands delightedly, "slmjilo and strong, t. '.aven't seen a better design . gomo. outer the Engineer /In chief's . of- ;fico." .. ' « " ' "Yes; it looks all , .right- on paper, - - Jlniy but you and I are the ones that . . havp' to got- it across that gorge aiid Ryan.'s I>eap ls , a bit of a eorker, I ./ . lUUSfc ray." >" ': ' .''w/ '' ' '.'S'poso we'll. 'dvo to- run ;a icqtdb- " way, 'won't wo, Mr, Pascoof v.No jihance '../to gnl nrotlud in this eouutrj ns far as . I-.can sen." . "We'll throw a cable across tbo . gorge' right away, Jim, with carriers for tho inen nud material; then you ran put' the drills In and gilt tbo abutments bolted, and go ahead' from1 both sides at the same time." . . . " 'Ow are you goin' to. get tho cabio . ..acrost, Mr. Pascoof"- Inquired 'Jim, .v scratching' his head doubtfully, "Too ".fur tb swing her, ain't It!" ' /.? Yes, I'm afraid It Is, Jim,, bnt wo ' 'bavb- got to Bond It across somehow. ' We'JI hovo to splice d light lino to the eiid 'of the cable; and thon.as'.wo bnvo not brought a rocket apparatus T'JI get ; 1 tho local trooper. to, tuko It across in his ; noroplano." ./"Wot about our men.gottln' acrost to fix tbo cable end t'other sidof" in- - qnlrod Jim. "Shouldn't like tor trust ; tor tho trooper. It's' a bit outside his job." f . . "IMI get him to take ono of. the men ' across- with him in t)in. machine," to- ' plied ' Pascoe. "In ordinary clrcum- stances, of-courso, I'd have. .sent men . ifbund tho gorgo . to '.fix tho eablo ond, ' ' and I'd .-have shot. tho Ilnooyer wltha rockotl Butthey, haven 'tsont.moup tbo rockot apparatus, and .it's a long - tramp round-— forty niilcs at least. Tho ' only' track Is through Fossicker 'a Gap. Far quicker and easier to send, tho mon over with tbo trooper." , "II 'ml" ejaculated Jim, dubiously. lie looked down once mora Into the gloomy abyss almost beneath their fret. Skeletons of dead horses— the de bris, of the great stampede— lay thick ly among tbo boulders and the scrub at the bottom. "Don't know as I should care for the job of. goin ' acrost with, the troop er," he remarked pensively. "Ob, rot, Jim!" retorted Pascoe. "Surely you're not losing your nerve, moo,. Why, ItVas easy 'as kiss your "Of ''course,' Mr. Pascoc — efyou say so," said Jim,- and tho subject dropped, although. tho troubled expression on tho foreman's face sufficiently Indlcntod his serious misgivings. Ho realised -that the job was an nwkward one. Ho had to tborw a stool wire eablo across a two hundred feet span with a fall on oilher side to tho gorgo of fourteen hundred feet btdow..'- ."Upon . tlmt eablo would run a carrier for taking tho sections of tbo boom and tho rest of tho material to tho positions m'arkad out as tho arch wns gradually built up. simultaneously fronf tho. abutments in tho solid rock at both sides, Tbo carrier would also tako tho ' riioii backbond forwards to tliotr work. Fortunately there was plenty of big timber handily placed for taking tho eablo at'both ornlsi "and tho electri cal engineering plant for 'Opcratlng tho carrier was .already on " tlio ground. Mr. Poscoo nodded cheerily to the foreman. ... .' "We'll sot about 'sending, the cabin across as soon as you 'to ready, Jim," he said. "Cassldy, tlio trooper, will bo here directly, anil I 'll get hlra to take tho light, line across on bis machine and make it fast.' Thou ho can como back and take n eopplo of' miin across, In soparato trips, "to fix; tlio eablo end. You'll Dml tho gear for running 'tho carrier in the store, and 'you .can sond tbo fitters to u>ot up tho plant right away/' lie disappeared, Into .bis ofllco, and. left Jim Burii to bin own reflections. A man of decision was Poscoo. . Dif ficulties for bhn bxlstcd only to bo' over- como. Ho never lost a meal by worry ing, and obstacles of orory kind hail ft habit of meiUng.'away unilor tbo post-' orful solvcut of ills infiexiblo dotcr- jnlnatiou. . ' Jim Bum, on the.other hand; was al ways tho first to seo a difileulty. llo was a bom' pessimist, tlioilfeb a capable man at hts job/ Ho .always succeeded in the end, but ho was a chronic grumb- lor, which won probably tho reasau'why ho had never raised himself to a higher position than- that, of a foreman. Just nt present ho was troubled by a new apprehension.'. It was all, vory. well for Mr. l'a'scoq to sbttto ibat tho line should bo. taken acrosa .by,- tho. trooper, an! that men' sh aeroplane to- mako f ast.tho - eablo. But would . tho arrangement; W 'sanctioned by Mr. Bnoksf . Mr. -Bauks was tho de partment ' engineer In charge, who had tho" responsibility of supervising tho contractor's mothods. Mr. Pascoe wai freo to doviso ' any plan ..that ho chose for carrying out tho operatlons, hut, t bis plan was such as to endanger tho ofilcient porformauco. of tho woyk, or. to Jeopardiso tbo lives of , the men) Mr. Ranks |iOBnessoiI tho right, of veto. Jim Burn, who .had .modo 'a habltof . meet ing" thndovil half way, convinced him self that Mr. Banks would not be satis fied with tlio proposed plan, and ho was troubled In conscquenco... Jt was just after tho midday spell for dinner and smoko-oh when tho' foreman, gar.iiig meditatively along tho-projected track Of tho /nonorall towards IVaratah Valley township noticed n black speck In' tho.-cloiid-fleck'ed_ -sky. Tho bl-i-ik speck rapidly grew larger, and, in a few minutes, Mr.- Cofrridy, with- every silver button of his uniform shining, dropped dowu qulotly and lillghted on a level piitch of ground close to Pascoo's of fice. Puhoou snw.hini through tho win dow, and cnino out at once. "nullo, CoHsldy, Glad- to sco you," ho snlii; >vit!i u cheerful smllo, extend ing his huud, which tlio trooper grasped warmly. "I expected you earlier, but tboro'lH)0 plenty of timo to got the first part of tho - work at ouy rato com- pbded beforo dark. Jim: Burn has everything ready. The light Hna is spliced to .thc'.eahle, and the sooner It is niudo fast, temporarily, to . that big blnckbutt trco over tberb tbo better. I'll start on tho terminal townrs . to morrow" Ho Indicated a (tee that stood obout fifty yards back form thq edge of tho preclplco oh tko far slilo. "You know this country, fairly well, don't youf" - . . "Bedad, I do thatl " said Caasldy, To- moving bis helmet to scratch his head anil extending his mouth In a'wldo grin. "Ever boou over to tho other side of the gorge before?" asked Pascoe. ."I her," said Casridy, "oad down to the bottom uv it too. Laubt time I wuz down I fought I wot niver goin1 tcr got up agin." "Bad as that, was Itf1' "Indade it wur,' sir. I dhropped I down nlco an' aisy iu roe llttlo jigger here to get them harses' shcalps, nn'j wbin -I tried to got back again I cudn't get a shtart to rise her at all at ail. Shure that hole there Is as hard to get out of as purgatbory. . Yo can't go twlnty yards In anny direction widout shtrlkln a bowlder as big as a eathay- dral. . 1 thricd best part uv a day to get a rise out uv the jigger, but I, fell back ivory time liko an ould ben wid a bruk leg'thiyin' fo jump bu. the roost. Tin a qtiaro placo to git IntU Jatlrcly." "I'm glad yon stuck to it,:C'0s»idy," said Pascoe, "How did you get out in the end!" ' "Sbure I tuk hn' hopped her -off uv tliO 'flnt top uv tho biggest bowlder. I cud find, nn' at lariit I got;a rlso out uv her, but mo jumper 'an' jrants was shpoilcd, au' I tuk a year's growt' out uvtbo jigger bofura.I: got filar us ut. So I hope you'll hot bo axin' iho down there agin, sor, for I wuldn't bo afther thryin' it again, not for all the horses' shcalps in the rouiithry.i'. - " Paseoo smiled pleasantly. "All yoii have to do, Cassidy, is to go across7 the .gorge, not down to the bottoni'of .it," ho said. '.".Off. you' go. Jim Buru 'll show you .what is 'to ho done. And now you hiust excuse me." He dived into the office again and shut the door. . " t'aasldy . wheeled his llttlo' monoplane down to a nice: lovel ' patch- near the' weatherboard stare where Jim Burn stood beside a big coil? of .well-oiled stool wlro eablo rolled round a drum. Besido tho drnm was a light- line colled in sailor fashion, Ono end was spliced to ? the cable, nnd Jl'm Burn beld the other end In. bis band. .The foreman knotted the ioo'so end of tho Uno to. a stanchion of tho monqjdano next to tho engine.' ; ; ' . . . . /Now/ then, Cassidy," said Burn. "See that big blqekbutt right on the top. of tho tunnel. All you have to do is to mako the ond of the lino fast to it, 'and thon como, back for instructions. Off you go." ? . ' Mr, Casftiily divested himself of his tunic, which . he , carefully ' folded ami laid on tbo ground plqclug his helmet on .top of it. Then he vrhcoled tho monoplane' /backwards .about' thirty, yards from the edge of. thq' precipice, and took hls seat In it, white Burn and half a dozen of the working'gang look ed on with open-mouthod interest. Tbo trooper set his ciigliio going, and the moodidauc began to movo. ^Gather ing way rapidly, it ran along tho lovel ground on Its blcyelo wheels aud rush- ed'straigbt for the 'gorge. ' ' //Hurrool" yelled Cassidy, as the iiionoplaini flew over tho edgo of the precipice, and WUh tho front plaoo ele vated in tho nick of time, soared straight as. a dart for tho other side, tho light -lino' uncoiling itself rapidly as the aeroplane skimmed on with' Its pro- jailors humming. . '.Cassidy circled round, looking'for an easy place to nligbts on, and then the horoplone 'droppod. to -tho ground in a small oiKin . space.' . ' Untying.'the lino from tie stanchion tho trooper inadn .it fast to the' black- butt, anil remounting ' tbo mouoplaue,1 returned huiid the' cheers of the work ing gang. . "flood siian, Cassidy," said Pascoe, who had been on interested spectator of the whole achievement from the HtUo Window of his office. . fo had stayed away purposely so as to 'fcavo tho direction of tho. small job in the hands of Jim Burn.' it. would do the foreman good, be considered, to have to bear unusual responsibilities occasion ally. Pascoe sauntered up to' tho troop er, who wns ilopreeatingly receiving the enthusiastic congratulations of tho working gang. . "Hkure, that ain't anything at. all at all," .remarked. Cassidy, aw he prepared to'put on his tunic and helmet again. "Dacw annybody iiso want a bit uv a shtrlng fasb'toued to a bit uv a shtick nnywlicref.'.' "Not just now, Cassidy," said' Pas- coo, "but 'I '11 tell ybu what- 1 dp want.- 1 won't you to take a' couple of our uum across in tho machino so that they rnu got tho' eablovray properly swung and all tho gear;, for the carrlor fixed. You con tako them ono at a timo. If you like and make two. trips of it." Tho' trooper's jaw foil, and a look of disappointment, replaced .tho' olr of triumph that - had just . irradiated bis gonial; Coltle fare. . \"Bcdad, X can't do ut, sorf" ho sold. "Sbure me bit of o jigger is built to carry only wno, an' tbo niln cudn't ride her widout me." I Here was an unexpected contretemps. Jim Burn at once took trip worst |»os- siblc view of the situation. I "1 was. afraid all along that some thing like this -would happen, Mr. . Pas- jcoe," he said. "I s'pose we'll have to send the men round by Fossicker' Gap after all, and there isn't even ft bush traek from the Gap to the tunnel It'll bo a delay of two days at least lo' get ting the esblcway fixed, and wo fan 't spare even one day by rights." - ><.. ; . "Nonsense, Jim," said Pascooucurt- ly, "we're not beaten yet. : I'll find somo. way of getting the men across. If it wasa't for Mr. Ranks, I'd get Cassi dy to haul tho eablo over and make it fast himself, so that wo could sond' a couple of men over in a make-shift car rier, but Ranks would ho sura to ob-' jeet, aud I don 't want to risk an- acci dent, ;if I cnn holp it. I'll takb'Afiyo ininutos to think it over." ... Tho engineer lit h|s jdpc to assiftb hi inoditatlonB, . and ;begQu to pace . back and. forwards, deep, in thought.- : ' < Silence 'fell on', tho little group/ ttint« was. gathered besido. tho" drum on which; the.: great steel . cable . was rolled in readiuess for its:, work, and, ono. by ouo, the men sllpjied nway to their vari ous tasks- until nobody- wasjloft except Pascoe/ CaHsldy, and. Jim Bum. ' Bui'all nt once the silonee .wa'a brokotfli/ a . distant' humming, like- the. sound1 of a humming bee, and, or Cassidy 's? prac tised ears caught the measured pulsa tion, ho junijied with oxeltemcnt. , , "Bedid, I hov nil" be .exclaimed, driving bis right, fist into the hollow of. his left palra exultantly. " Tis Bert Milligan In Black 8wan. He's ou his. thrij>back to Bottlebrusb wid the mails. If we can make him bear us he'll shtop an unload the mail bags -an' tako couple of siia acrost tho ohle for ye as aisy as diggin' spuds." Looking up . Into tho afternoon sky tho three watchers saw. the mailman ' big' biplane' 'flying straight towards tliem . from : tho direction of Waratah Valley, but very high ""up. This was Bert's usual, course. Ho steered to clear Big Hill . and then to crass tho gorge, keeping; practically tho 'Jruno routo as tho jiurveyed monorail track all the way; to Bottlohrush. "Do you. think you ean nignal him to stop, Cniwldy!" asked rascoe. .. "Falx, I'll thry, anyway," .replied tho trooper, a she drew a whistle from his pocket and blow a loug blast. -But tho aeroplane held on Its. courKo nn- swervlngly. It was immediately over Rig Hill already, -jbnt fully a thousand foot above them. A sepond shrill blast from the troop er's wlilstlo failed to' inako the slight est impression oii the speed 'or course of tho biplane, and the watchers gave a gasp of disap|iointmont as they grasped the fact that the signal was unnoticed. - Cassidy. threw his. head back, placed bio bands before ' hls mouth, and emit ted a "eoo-'co" that nearly split the etira of tho llstoners- . But tlio mailman apparently did not hear it. At any rate, he held on his way .without the slightest deviation. , "Shore, ho must hb in Ioypl"ilsaid. Cassidy cynically,, "If lip-. can't ihear that. Tis a qunro thing how the t 'ought uv a woman can shtop a man's ears iutlroly." ' ; > "How tho dcurc could lie bear you at that height?" said Pascoe, who al ways kept his wits about him in emer gencies. ' Can't you understand that the booming of his own propellers Is quite sufficient to prevent him from hearing any noiao -that you chn possibly make. down heref" ' "True enough," said Cassidy, with a crestfallen air us Black Rwtm snared right over tho head of tho watrhers and flow above Hyan Leap steady, ak a homing pigeon/ ' aud brlug him back, Cassidy," Mid I'aseoc quietly. , "Hurroo! I'll do ut," yelled tho trooper. "The jlggor has, a turn'uv fut whin she likes, an', bedad, I'll make her stlp it out" this day.U With his usual impulsiveness he rush ed to the monoplane, flung himself into the driving sent, and once mora raitled the machine down, tg tho. edgo of thq precipice and hurled it and himself in-, to space. With a quick, turn of tho wrist he elevated tho plane to Its limit, and the machine, obedient to his touch, soared quickly to an inimeliso . height and flow nf topmost :speed in pusidt of Illark Swan. ' This wno a new experience that thor oughly.- appealed to Cassidy; Ho -had ridden many a- steeplechase in earlier davs, and a race of any -kind sqnt a thrill of ecstasy through his veins,: Leaning forward so as to oppose as little resistance as jtosslblo to the wind pressure, ho ofiened out his engine to its fullest extent, and the monoplane whizzed -along at a good fifty miles an hour. Ho routil see Black Swan straight ahead of him, and he felt that ho was gradually, overtaking her, hut still the speed was not fast enough to satisfy him. . . "Bo the powers, it's neek or nothln' this thrlp,"-he muttered. "The win's behind mo right enough, but I'd be apt to get a bit more uv ut tf I wax a bit higher, " lie gave the piano another inch of elevation and rose a couple of hundred feet. Sure enough he struck a now stratum of the atmosphere at tho higher lovel, ond found a forty mile an hour'breoze that drove him along at a terrifically in creased speed. "Rednd, thin is travelling" said Cas sidy to himself with gusto. "Bhnre, 1 '11 bato blm aisy. if tho jigger dou't go to pieces." . . . The monoplane began to pitch and sway alarmingly as it tore along before, a Urcoxo that wns almost half a gale. One trcmeixioiys lurch almost .shot Cas sidy out' of tho driving seat, but ho to- covered himself by- gripping tho spin- chion bestdo him. "Fnix, I wuz nearly out. uv the sad dle that time," muttered tho trooper, . "anl'a fall uv half a milo 'd uo fea- j ther-bed to cateh mo aytlicr."/ I 'Hardly was ho back In his scat when the monoplane gave another awful lurch.' | ."llould up, ye dcvil/' lib roared, and thon ho added, "tihure.'Ox too good;to 'lasht annyway. I I 'ink 1'll he ilhrop- pln' her down to ihe two thousand fut agin."' ? / ' He depressed the .piano an lnck or two and the machino glided, slightly | downwards, tho englno still whirring at top speed. . ; | . lite trooper was soon in a compara tively quiet atinosphere agftin, but his break-ueek burst with tho strong wind behind him' at tho upper lovol had done him, good servlco. Looking down bo- low him he saw- that -he had actually overhauled Black Swan already. An other turn of tho : lover borught the monopltt'rio down to the samo levp)«ffs tlio bipianq. | . Tho-nioliman, unconscious of, his pur suer, was travelling along at a steady ; speed of thirty -five miles an hour. .Wrapped ia his thoughts . ho .saw no ' thiug but tho contour of the woil-known 'ranges, heard' nothing, but '.tho loud ; booming of tbo propollorf. Automati cally ho noted each landmark -of his aerial routo as it como into view, and | altered course accordingly, but tho cur rent of his thoughts never changed. It J was, as though two porsons ocouplod tbo driving scat of Black Swam. Ouo was tho skilful acroplanist, the other was the lovor.of Ailco Hardy.' The mccbani- I col section of -Bert MUligan's brain. was working perfectly, but it; pros absolu tely detached from all the delicate ma. chinery of emotionalism. . The maiiman was completely, absorbs cd la his thoughts. He fancied that he could 'still' feel at his side the presence of tho womqn.wbo bad sat thefo when he drove Black '8vrau on that cvontfu) bitht jbprnoy to tho ica coast — the wo- cia'n 'whq.had been so' angry with him on:(hat night, and who had since been so strangely- gracious. Ho warmed his heart. with the hbpe that she still, cared .for him, and that some day she would ronui nway with him for over from Wnratah Valley, sitting beside blm In that' samo empty seat. ."Milligan! Milligan! Hold hard there, Bert Milligan!" - ..What was that strange cray that sud denly penetrated bin consciousness? It seemed to come from the sky itself liko a ; cry of warning. . Tho mailman actually trembled.. Sure ly ho could not be losing bis norvo and beginning to hear voices from the uii- . "nullo, there, Bert Milligan! Why the blazes don't yo shtop? Shpro I've caught you fairly! " . Tho 'startled driver of Black Swan looked but and saw beside him tho rush ing monoplane, from which projected Mr. Cassidy 's bead, now hclmetlcs). As tho two machines sped onward sldo.by side at an altitude of sorqb twelve hun dred feet 'above tbo surface ' of tho earth, Cassidy '.told his. tale in excited goapji.. Bert. Milligan was badly wanted bneX at- Ryqn,'s-Lcap. Tlie monorail bridge Would he delayed If- he did not glye.hjs/hqlp/ . -' ; ; . "Shwlng her. around' at wanat, lf 'yo l, can, Bert,"': shouted- iCassldyy "an' wofirbo' acb In half a jlffcy. ' 8huro a few mlnutcs' hera .qr'ibcro. won't oat- thcr to tho bits us ictthcrs in ycr bag at all, at all," 8o It came about that Bert Milligan did "shwiug her around at wanst," and returned with (Itssidy to the scene of the bridge building. Fate, weaving and interweaving the threads of human lives, hid reached out in mid air aud grasped the strand of . Bert Milligan 'a existence purging to weave It into tbo cull of a mo«t singular retribution. (To be Continued.) |

¶ CHAPTER VII. — THE BRIDGE BUILDERS. ¶ Out on the Big Hill plateau, at a height of two thousand feet above sea level, the wind blew fresh and keen, but solitude reigned no longer. ¶ Just beyond the line of the strong four-railer that marked where the boun- dary of Tom Hardy´s birthright section ran down to the edge of Ryan´s Leap, stood nearly a score of tents, pitched under the lee of the crest. These were the tents of the construction gang that had just arrived in charge of Pascoe, the contractors´ engineer, upon whom devolved the formidable task of throw- ing a bridge across the yawning chasm two hundred feet wide to connect with the tunnel which had yet to be pierced through the solid rock of Mount Baldy on the opposite side. Through the tun- nel and across the bridge was to come the monorail extension from Bottle- brush. ¶ The heavy timber on Tom Hardy´s birthright section was all cut down — except one gigantic gum that towered on high like a lonely sentinel near the edge of the abyss. All Cassidy´s elo- quence could not persuade Hardy to cut down that tree. It had saved his child and himself on the day of the great stampede, and had fairly earned its life. ¶ In the Crown land adjoining the birth- right section a broad swath had been cut through the standing timber. This was the projected route for the mono- rail, and it stretched away, curving round to find an easy gradient on its course to the distant township whence it would be carried eventually to the coast. ¶ A few small wooden buildings had al- ready been erected near the gap to serve as stores and offices for the contractors´ superintendent and foremen, and for the Government engineer in charge of the supervision, and his inspectors. The solitudes of the bush buzzed with busy life, and the men were hard at work moving the material from big motor lorries into the store. Sections of the great steel tubular booms, girders, bolts, steel castings, and gun-metal plates were already on the ground. Everything had been fitted in the Sydney workshops. The different parts were all marked, and Pascoe, as he stood talking to Jim Burn, the foreman, threw a quick glance over the scene and smiled a smile of genuine satisfaction. ¶ “ Everything ready, Jim ? ” he asked. ¶ “ That there steel troughing ain`t come Mr. Pascoe, ” replied the foreman, “ but we shan`t want it yet. We can go right ahead now whenever you`re ready. ” ¶ “ Well, Jim, ” said Pascoe, who held a working drawing in his hand, “ you know the kind of job you`re up against this trip, and we haven`t any time to lose over it either. The boss has engaged to have the bridge built by the first of Sep- tember, and there`s a fine of £50 for every day´s delay after that. It`s a tough proposition, but we`re bound to get it through. ” ¶ Jim Burn walked to the edge of the gap and studied the sheer drop to the bottom of the gorge and the frowning rock face opposite intently. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ CHAPTER VIII. — ( Continued. ) ¶ LOVE THAT LASTS. ¶ “ I see, ” said Tom. “ The men `ll be let down of course, in a cradle from the overhead cable to prepare the rock for the cast steel plates, but on account of the overhang you can`t get the cradle close up to the rock-face. ” ¶ “ You`ve grasped it exactly, ” said Pascoe, throwing a shrewd glance at Tom Hardy. ¶ This man evidently, knew what he was talking about. ¶ “ If I had a man, ” he added slow- ly who was game to go down on the end of a rope slung from the cable, and swing himself in towards the cliff so he could get hold of it with a grapnel and make a line fast I could fix it up easily. We could draw in the cradle then and secure it, and send the men down to pre- pare a bed in the rock face for the plates. ” ¶ Tom`s face brightened. ¶ “ I know where you can find a man to take the job on, ” he said quick- ly. ¶ “ Where ? ” ¶ “ Here. ” ¶ “ What ! You ? ” ¶ “ Yes. Mr. ” ¶ Pascoe grasped Tom Hardy´s hand and shook it in silence. ¶ “ You`ve got the grit to do it. I sure of that, ” he said. “ And the brains too. But mind you, it`s not going to be a bit of child´s play. I`d have a go at it myself if I hadn`t the responsibility of looking after the men and controlling the whole of the work, but if I met with an accident the construction of the bridge would be delayed and there would be the deuce to pay. ” ¶ “ Don`t you worry about me, ” said Tom, cheerily. “ I know exactly what to do and how to do it. Got a pair of field classes in the office ? ” ¶ “ Yes, ” said Pascoe. And then, catching sight of a boy carrying some bolts to the store, “ Hi ! son- ny ! The field glasses from my office table ! ” ¶ When the boy came back with the field glasses Tom Hardy took them from him and scrutinised the opposite rock-face intently. ¶ “ It`s mighty bare, ” he said, “ but there`s one old stump there, plumb under the middle of the overhang,° that ought to do. I`ll take the grap- nel down and get a hold of that as soon as you like. ” ¶ Pascoe looked at him admiringly. ¶ “ I wish I had a few more men like you with me, ” he said. “ I`ll 'have the cableways properly fixed with the towers by to-morrow, and then we can go right ahead. ” ¶ Tom Hardy returned to Waratah Valley that afternoon, having arrang- ed with Pascoe to be back at Ryan´s Leap early next morning. As he swung along the well-known track in his runabout, disquieting thoughts came thronging into his mind. Why was Alice so cold to him and so pre- occupied of late ? She seemed to have plenty to say to Bert Milligan, and never failed to be in the post office when the mailman arrived. For the thousandth time he wished that he had never mixed himself up in Wilga Blake´s absurd love-affair. Pretty Wilga was becoming a regular little nuisance — always sending mess- ages across to him at the store say- ing she wanted to see him. And then when he went over to the ho- tel she did nothing but pester him about her father´s bad temper and Tom Broughton´s continued absence. Why on earth had he allowed himself to be drawn into such a ridiculous position out of sheer good nature ? He had promised the girl to keep her confidences secret, and he could not break his word, but he would be heartily glad when Tom Brough- ton screwed his courage to the stick- ing point, and ended the idiotic situ- ation. The idea that his had pledged his word to keep Wilga Blake´s pre- posterous love-affair a secret from his wife annoyed him excessively. He was in quite a bad temper, for him, when he ran the runabout into the paddock at the back of the store, and it did not make him feel any better to see “ Black Swan ” standing outside the post office. ¶ The evening meal was a failure, for Alice was silent and absorbed in her own thoughts, and Tom was still ruminating over his grievances. The hush of an impending catastrophe — still far off but plainly drawing near- er every day — could be felt in the do- mestic atmosphere. Even little Ben- ny´s sallies fell upon unappreciated ears. His mother put him to bed immediately after tea, and came and sat down opposite to her husband in the little sitting room. ¶ “ I saw Bert Milligan´s machine outside when I came home, ” began Hardy irritably. “ What the deuce does that fellow want hanging around here or ? He must have been at least an hour late getting away with the mails. ” ¶ Alice looked up quickly and her face was flushed. Was it possible that Joe Peterson had carried out his threat to tell Tom about that night voyage to the coast ? ¶ “ He was hardly late at all, ” she said in a voice that trembled slightly in spite of her determined effort to conceal her disquietude. “ He stayed to tell me about the bridge that they`re building over Ryan´s Leap. They asked him to help them a couple of evenings ago by taking some men across on his machine. ” ¶ “ Oh, did he ? ” said Tom. “ Was that all he talked about ? ” ¶ Alice coloured up angrily. “ Well, at any rate, Bert can talk civilly to me, Tom, and that`s more than I can say of you lately, ” she retorted. ¶ “ My dear girl, don`t lose your tem- per, ” said Tom. “ It really isn`t worth it. Still you can hardly ex- pect me to be pleased to hear that you take more pleasure in Milligan´s conversation than in mine. ” ¶ “ I never said any such thing, Tom, and you know it, ” said Alice. “ But you go away nearly every morning now, and you stay away all day and you never think how lonely it is for me, all by myself in the store. If I do talk to Milligan for a few minu- tes in the afternoon, he`s about the only person I see to exchange a word with all day. ” ¶ “ Oh, is he, ” said Tom grimly, I`d much rather you`d find some one else to talk to. That black-browed “ well, I don`t mind telling you that beggar is beginning to get on my nerves. ” ¶ Tom did not, in reality, feel a spark of jealousy in regard to the mailman. He would have scorned the bare supposition of such a thing if uttered by anyone else. He loved his beautiful wife with all his heart, and he would have scoffed at the idea that she could have the slightest sen- timental regard for anyone else. But he had worked himself into an irri- table mood during the solitary drive home in the runabout, and he was ready to make a grievance out of anything. ¶ “ I must ask you not to talk about my friends in that offensive tone, ” said Alice, very coldly, opening a book which she made a poor pretence of glancing at, “ and if the sight of a friend of mine annoys you so much please remember that you have friends who are infinitely more ob- jectionable to me. ” ¶ Tom was beginning to get really angry now. “ I don`t think you know what you are saying, Alice, ” he said. ¶ “ Oh ! don`t I, though ? ” retorted the woman in a sudden flare of pas- sion. “ Yes I do. And you know it very well too. That Blake girl was here again to-day asking for you. And she would neither say what she wanted nor leave a message. I could get nothing more out of her than ‘ Yes, Mrs. Hardy, ’ and ‘ No, Mrs. Hardy, ’ but she was very anxious to know at what hour you would be home, and I could see that she had been crying. ” ¶ Her thoughts were too much for Alice. She flung her book on the floor, rose from the chair, and paced up and down the little room stamp- ing an indignant foot at intervals. ¶ This was an unpleasant turning of the table for Tom. ¶ “ How do I know what Wilga Blake wanted ? ” he asked with exaspera- tion, but there was a lack of since- rity in his tone, and his wife noted it unerringly. It added fuel to the fire of her jealousy. ¶ “ You know well enough what Wil- ga Blake wants by continually com- ing over here with foolish messages for you, ” said Alice, sharply, “ and I intend to know, too, before long. I know you`ve been trying to keep out of her way lately. You haven`t spent nearly so much time chattering with her over the fence, but I`m going to find out what it all means, I can tell you that. And if it is what I sus- pect it is, Tom Hardy, then you can say good-bye to me, for I`ll not stop here to be made a fool of by another woman — no, not even for you. ” ¶ Hardy was almost dazed by the ex- plosion, but he sat quiet for a few seconds and collected his thoughts. Bitterly he repented his foolish irri- tability. But he could not bring himself to believe that Alice meant what she said. Conscious as he was in his heart that out of sheer bad temper he had shammed being jealous of Bert Milligan, he jumped to the conclusion that Alice had taken a similar course just to pay him back in his own coin. It was incredible inconceivable, that she could really be jealous of Wilga Blake. ¶ “ Surely you are not really so mad as to believe that Wilga Blake is any- thing more to me than an acquain- tance ? ” said the badgered husband de- sperately. ¶ Mrs. Hardy gave an unpleasant laugh. ¶ “ Your idea of acquaintanceship is different from mine, ” she retorted curtly, “ and probably very different from Wilga Blake´s idea too. Any- how, your young acquaintance, as you call her, was asking for you in tears this morning. I suppose be- cause you have been keeping out of her way lately. What does the little fool mean by coming here crying for you, Tom ? Well, aren`t you going to clear up the mystery ? ” ¶ “ How do I know, what she was crying for ? ” asked Tom frantically. He began to realise with amaze- ment how black this utterly im- possible case was looking against him. “ I declare to heaven women are so hopelessly illogical that it`s no use trying to convince them be° rea- son. I tell you I don`t care two straws about Wilga Blake. ” ¶ “ Well, it`s perfectly clear to me that the young woman cares a great deal more than she ought to about you, Tom. And as for being illogi- cal, surely it`s you who is that. Everything points to the conclusion that you have been trifling — I don`t say worse at present — with Wilga Blake, and yet you refuse to give me any explanation whatever of con- duct that I`ve seem with mv own eyes. ” ¶ There was a break in Alice´s voice, and tears were not far away. ¶ For a brief instant Tom Hardy he- sitated on the brink of his explana- tion. Why should he not tell his wife all about Wilga Blake´s protracted love-affair with that perplexingly evasive lover of hers. But then he remembered his pledged word to the girl that he would keep her secret and his tongue was tied. He reflec- ted that Alice, in her cooler mo- ments, must see the folly of her accusation. Why, he had always lov- ed her sincerely. He had given her a thousand proofs of his devotion. Even now, in the middle of this stu- pid quarrel about nothing at all, he loved her though she aggravated him. And he would show her that he lov- ed her, too. ¶ Moving across the room to his wife Tom Hardy placed one hand on her waist, and with the other lifted her chin and looked into the grey eyes that were full of stormy lights. ¶ “ Alice, dear, I love you, I love you, ” he said, “ and I want you to give me your trust and to believe me when I tell you that you have my whole heart, and that no other wo- man but you can claim from me a single thought. Won`t you believe me darling ? ” ¶ There was a ring of sincerity in his words that appealed to the intuition of his wife. Her reason told her that all the evidence was against him. Try as she would, she could find no ground for his refusal to ex- plain circumstances that seemed to prove his unworthiness conclusively. Yet when his arms were round her and his voice, that carried convic- tion in every intonation, was in her ears, she felt her distrust and anger vanishing in spite of herself. Her reason bade her doubt, but her feel- ing, which is the woman´s surest guide, told her to believe, and she surrendered — with a completeness the memory of which later on was to lend the plast° pang of pain that should stir her to desperate action. ¶ Folded in Tom´s arms and listening to his loverlike endearments, Alice Hardy forgot her indignation. After all, this was her man — the one and no other. She even forgot for a few happy minutes her nervous interest in the visits of Bert Milligan, and her instinctive aversion and dread of that sinister and menacing Joe Peterson, the thought of whom ob- sessed her and filled her with pre- monitions of evil. ¶ Tom Hardy not only loved his wife but he was proud of her, and it was his delight to interest her whenever he could do so, in his own rough out-of-door life and in his achieve- ments in the domain of mechanics. Feeling that the reconciliation was complete and that the black cloud of misunderstandings had blown over, he sat down beside Alice and talked to her, first of herself, and then of the great work that was in progress on Big Hill. With modest pride he told her about his meeting with Pascoe, and about the import- ant job that he had undertaken to carry out for the engineer next day. ¶ Alice warmed herself in the sun- shine of her burly husband´s admira- tion and resolutely vanished from her mind all those unpleasant and per- plexing speculations about the young woman on the other side of the road. She listened to Tom´s descrip- tion of the difficulty which had yet to be overcome in preparing the ab- utments for the monorail bridge, and delighted him by declaring that she would go with him and watch him at his work. ¶ “ Benny and I will go off with you in the morning in the runabout, ” she announced with decision, “ and, when you`ve finished helping Mr. Pas- coe with the thingummies for the bridge, we`ll be there to kiss you, `causes you`re the bravest cleverest man in the world. There, just like that, ” and she sealed her forgiveness with a kiss. ¶ ( To be Continued ).

¶ Love and the Æroplane. ¶ Chapter VIII. ¶ LOVE THAT TRUSTS. ¶ It was a very simple matter for the mailman to transport a couple of the contractor´s men across the forge°, and Joe Black and Alf. Kiggins thoroughly enjoyed the experience. They were taken across separately, with tucker and blankets, and with instructions to make fast the cable end temporarily, and fix the running gear for the car- rier. Bert landed Joe Black first and Alf. Kiggins after him almost at the foot of the big blackbutt tree, and then, waving his hand in farewell to Pascoe, Cassidy, and Jim Burn on the other side of the gorge, he rose with Black Swan and resumed his interrupt- ed journey to Bottlebrush. ¶ Thus it was that Alice Hardy´s dark browed lover unconsciously forged a link in the chain of Destiny. ¶ The wire cable that was to make possible the erection of the bridge for the monorail was stretched across the chasm, securely moored to a big blue gum on the side where the camp of the construction gang was pitched, and on the other side to the blackbutt direct- ly above the mouth of the tunnel. In due course it would be connected with proper towers. ¶ Next day the carrier was running on the cable, and men and material could be transported freely backwards and forwards at the will of the resourceful Pascoe. ¶ The work of preparation went brisk- ly on, and even Jim Burn forgot his pessimism as he bustled round the piles of tubes and girders, steel castings and gun-metal plates, identifying each sep- arate piece by the number that it bore and comparing it with the correspond- ing entry in the list that he held in his hand. ¶ Tom Hardy, leaning over the four- rail fence that divided little Benny´s birthright section, from the area of the engineering operations, surveyed the scene with genuine interest. A handy man was hardy°, with a natural aptitude for every kind of mechanical work, and he quickly established friendly re- lations with Pascoe and Jim Burn. Catching sight of Pascoe standing at the door of his office, Hardy vaulted over the fence and congratulated him warmly on the progress of the work. ¶ “ Oh, yes, I think we shall do all right now, ” said Pascoe, with a confi- dent smile. “ I`d have an easier time if Jim Burn was not so ready to find difficulties, but I expect we`ll worry along somehow. He`s been croaking about the abutments already. ¶ “ What`s the trouble about them ? ” ¶ “ No trouble at all on this side. We can fix them easily but it`s going to be just a bit awkward on the other side on account of the brow of the cliff overhanging the gorge so much. ” ¶ “ The man can`t climb down the face of the cliff, I s`pose ? ” ¶ “ That`s it. The cliff has almost a sheer drop to the bottom. The only possible way of getting at the side for the abutments is from above, and the overhanging rock just stops us. Of course, I could put in a charge and blast out the overhang, but I don`t want to do that if I can manage it any other way. ” ¶ “ I see, ” said Tom. “ The men `ll be let down, of course, in a cradle from the overhead cable to prepare the rock for the cast steel plates, but on ac- count of the overhang you can`t get the cradle close up to the rock face. ” ¶ “ You`ve grasped it exactly, ” said Pascoe, throwing a shrewd glance at Tom Hardy, ¶ This man evidently knew what he was talking about. ¶ “ If I had a man, ” he added slowly, “ who was game to go down on the end of a rope slung from the cable, and swing himself in towards the cliff so that he could get hold of it with a grapnel and make a line fast, I could fix it up easily. We could draw in the cradle then and secure it, and send the men down to prepare a bed in the rock face for the plates. ” ¶ Tom´s face brightened. ¶ “ I know where you can find a man to take the job on, ” he said quickly. ¶ “ Where ? ” ¶ “ Here. ” ¶ “ What ! You ? ” ¶ “ Yes. Me. ” ¶ Pascoe grasped Tom Hardy´s hand and shook it in silence. ¶ “ You`ve got the grit to do it. I am sure of that, ” he said,° “ And the brains too. But, mind you, it`s not go- ing to be a bit of child´s play. I`d have a go at it myself if I hadn`t the responsibility of looking after the men and controlling the whole of the work, but if I met with any accident the con- struction of the bridge would be de- layed and there would be the deuce to pay. ” ¶ “ Don`t you worry about me, ” said Tom, cheerily. “ I know exactly what to do and how to do it. Got a pair of field glasses in the office ? ” ¶ “ Yes, ” said Pascoe. And then, catching sight of a boy carrying some bolts to the store, “ Hi ! sonny ! The field glasses from my office table ! ” ¶ When the boy came back with the field glasses Tom Hardy took them from him and scrutinised the opposite rock face intently. ¶ “ It`s mighty bare, ” he said, “ but there`s one old stump there, plumb un- der the middle of the overhang, that ought to do. I`ll take the grapnel down and get a hold of that as soon as you like. ” ¶ Pascoe looked at him admiringly. ¶ “ I wish I had a few more men like you with me, ” he said. “ I`ll have the cableway properly fixed with the tow- ers by to-morrow, and then we can go right ahead. ” ¶ Tom Hardy returned to Waratah Val- ley that afternoon, having arranged with Pascoe to be back at Ryan´s Leap early next morning. As he swung along the well-known track in his runabout, disquieting thoughts came thronging into his mind. Why was Alice so cold to him and so preoccupied of late ? She seemed to have plenty to say to Bert Milligan, and never failed to be in the post office when the mailman arrived. For the thousandth time he wished that he had never mixed himeslf° up in Wil- ga Blake´s absurd love affair. Pretty Wilga was becoming a regular little nuisance — always sending messages, across to him at the store saying she wanted to see him. And then° he went over to the hotel she did nothing but pester him about her father´s bad temper and Tom Broughton´s continued absence. Why on earth had he allowed himself to be drawn into such a ridi- culous position out of sheer good na- ture ? He had promised the girl to keep her confidences secret, and he could not break his word, but he would be heartily glad when Tom Broughton screwed his courage to the sticking point, and ended the idiotic situation. The idea that he had pledged his word to keep Wilga Blake´s preposterous love affair a secret from his wife an- noyed him excessively. He was in quite a bad temper, for him, when he ran the runabout into the paddock at the back of the store, and it did not make him feel any better to see Black Swan standing outside the post office. ¶ The evening meal was a failure, for Alice was silent and absorbed in her own thoughts, and Tom was still rumi- nating over his grievances. The hush of an impending catastrophe — still far off but plainly drawing nearer every day — could be felt in the domestic atmosphere. Even little Benny´s sal- lies fell upon unappreciated ears. His mother put him to bed immediately af- ter tea, and came and sat down oppo- site to her husband in the little sitting room. ¶ “ I saw Bert Milligan´s machine out- side when I came home, ” began Hardy irritably. “ What the deuce does that fellow want hanging round here for ? He must have been at least an hour late getting away with the mails. ” ¶ Alice looked up quickly and her face was flushed. Was it possible that Joe Peterson had carried out his threat to tell Tom about the night voyage to the coast ? ¶ “ He was hardly late at all, ” she said in a voice that trembled slightly in spite of her determined effort to con- ceal her dispuietude°. “ He stayed to tell me about the bridge that they`re building over Ryan´s Leap. They ask- ed him to help them a couple of even- ing´s ago by taking some men across on his machine. ” ¶ “ Oh, did he ! ” said Tom. “ Was that all he talked about ? ” ¶ Alice coloured up angrily. “ Well, at any rate, Bert can talk civilly to me, Tom, and that`s more than I can say of you lately, ” she retorted. ¶ “ My dear girl, don`t lose your tem- per, ” said Tom. “ It really isn`t worth it. Still you can hardly expect me to be pleased to hear that you take more pleasure in Milligan´s conversa- tion than in mine. ” ¶ “ I never said any such thing, Tom, and you know it, ” said Alice. “ But you go away nearly every morning uow, and you stay away all day, and you never think how lonely it is for me, all by myself in the store. If I do talk to Milligan for a few minutes in the afternoon, he`s about the only per- son I see to exchange a word with all day. ” ¶ “ Oh, is he, ” said Tom grimly, “ well I don`t mind telling you that I`d much rather you`d find some one else to talk to. That black browed beggar is beginning to get on my nerves. ” ¶ Tom did not, in reality, feel a spark of jealousy in regard to the mailman. He would have scorned the bare suppo- sition of such a thing if uttered by any- one else. He loved his beautiful wife with all his heart, and would have scoffed at the idea that she could have the slightest sentimental regard for anyone else. But he worked himself into an irritable mood during the soli- tary drive home in the runabout, and he was ready to make a grievance out of anything. ¶ “ I must ask you not to talk about my friends in that offensive tone, ” said Alice, very coldly, opening a book which she made a poor pretence of glancing at, “ and if the sight of a friend of mine annoys you so much, please remember that you have friends who are infinitely more objectionable to me. ” ¶ Tom was beginning to get really an- gry now. “ I don`t think you know what you are saying, Alice, ” he said. ¶ “ Oh, don`t I, though ? ” retorted the woman in a sudden flare of passion. “ Yes I do. And you know it very well too. That Blake girl was here again to- day asking for you. And she would neither say what, she wanted nor leave a message. I could get nothing more out of her than ‘ Yes, Mrs. Hardy, ’ and ‘ No, Mrs. Hardy, ’ but she was very anxious to know at what hour you would be home, and I could see that she had been crying. ” ¶ Her thoughts were too much for Alice. She flung her book on the floor, rose from the chair, and paced up and down the little room stamping an in- dignant foot at intervals. ¶ This was an unpleasant turning of the tables for Tom. ¶ “ How do I know what Wilga Blake wanted ? ” he asked with exasperation, but there was a lack of sincerity in his tone, and his wife noted it unerringly. It added fuel to the fire of her jea- lousy. ¶ “ You know well enough what Wil- ga Blake wants by continually coming over here with foolish messages for you, ” said Alice sharply, “ and I in- tend to know, too, before long. I know you`ve been trying to keep out of her way lately. You haven`t spent nearly so much time chattering with her over the fence, but I`m going to find out what it all means, I can tell you that. And if it is what I suspect it is, Tom Hardy, then you can say good-bye to me, for I`ll not stop here to be made a fool of by another woman — no, not even for you. ” ¶ Hardy was almost dazed by the ex- plosion, but he sat quiet for a few sec- onds and collected his thoughts. Bit- terly he repented his foolish irritability. But he could not bring himself to be- lieve that Alice meant what she said. Conscious as he was in his heart that out of sheer bad temper he had sham- med being jealous of Bert Milligan, he jumped to the conclusion that Alice had taken a similar course just to pay him back in his own coin. It was in- credible, inconceivable, that she could really be jealous of Wilga Blake. ¶ “ Surely you are not really so mad as to believe that Wilga Blake is any- thing more to me than an acquaint- ance ? ” said the badgered husband des- perately. ¶ Mrs. Hardy gave an unpleasant laugh. ¶ “ Your idea of acquaintanceship is different from mine, ” she retorted, “ and probably very different from Wilga Blake´s idea too. Anyhow, your young acquaintance, as you call her, was asking for you in tears this morn- ing. I suppose because you have been keeping out of her way lately. What does the little fool mean by coming here crying for you, Tom ? Well, are you not going to clear up the mys- tery ! ” ¶ “ How do I know what she was cry- ing for ? ” asked Tom frantically. He began to realise with amazement how black this utterly impossible case was looking against him. “ I declare to heaven women are so hopelessly illo- gical that it`s no use trying to con- vince them by reason. I tell you I don`t care two straws about Wilga Blake. ” ¶ “ Well, it perfectly clear to me that the young woman cares a great deal more than she ought to about you, Tom, And so far from being illogical, surely it`s you who are that. Everything points to the conclusion that you have been trifling — I won`t say worse at pre- sent — with Wilga Blake, and yet you refuse to give me any explanation whatever of conduct that I`ve seen with my own eyes. ” ¶ There was a break in Alice´s voice, and tears were not far away. ¶ For a brief instant Tom Hardy hesi- tated on the brink of his explanation. Why should he not tell his wife all about Wilga Blake´s protracted love affair with that perplexingly evasive lover of hers ? But then he remember- ed. His pledged word to the girl, that he would keep her secret, and his tongue was tied. He reflected that Alice, in her cooler moments, must see the folly of her accusation. Why, he had al- ways loved her sincerely. He had given her a thousand proofs of his devotion. Even now in the middle of this stupid quarrel about nothing at all, he loved her though she aggravated him. And he would show her that he loved her too. ¶ Moving across the room to his wife, Tom Hardy placed one hand on her waist, and with the other lifted her chin and looked into the grey eyes that were full of stormy lights. ¶ “ Alice, dear, I love you, I love you, ” he said, “ and I want you to give me your trust and to believe me when I tell you that you have my whole heart, and that no other woman but you can claim from me a single thought. Won`t you believe me, darling ? ” ¶ There was a ring of sincerity in his words that appealed to the intuition of his wife. Her reason told her that all the evidence was against him. Try as she would, she could find no ground for his refusal to explain circumstances that seemed to prove his unworthiness conclusively. Yet when his arms were round her and his voice, that carried conviction in every intonation, was in her ears, she felt her distrust and an- ger vanishing in spite of herself. Her reason bade her doubt, but her feeling, which is a woman´s surest guide, told her to believe, and she surrendered — with a completeness the memory of which later on was to lend the last pang of pain that should stir her to de- sperate action. ¶ Folded in Tom´s arms, and listen- ing to his lover-like endearments, Alice Hardy fogot° her indignation. After all, this was her man — this one and no other. She even forgot for a few hap- py minutes, her perilous interest in the visits of Bert Milligan, and her instinc- tive aversion and dread of that sinister and menacing Joe Peterson, the thought of whom obsessed her and filled her with premonitions of evil. ¶ Tom Hardy not only loved his wife, but he was proud of her, and it was his delight to interest her whenever he could do so in his own rough out-of-door life and in his achievements in the do- main of mechanics. Feeling that the reconciliation was complete and that the black cloud of misunderstanding had blown over he sat down beside Al- ice and talked to her, first of herself, and then of the great work that was in progress on Big Hill. With modest pride he told her about his meeting with Pascoe, and about the important job that he had undertaken to carry out for the engineer next day. ¶ Alice warmed herself in the sunshine of her burly husband´s admiration and resolutely banished from her mind all those unpleasant and perplexing specu- lations about the young woman on the other side of the road. She listened to Tom´s description of the difficulty which had yet to be overcome in prepar- ing for the monorail bridge, and de- lighted him by declaring that she would go with him and watch him at his work. ¶ “ Benny and I will go off with you in the morning in the runabout, ” she an- nounced with decision, “ and, when you have finished helping Mr. Pascoe with the thingummics for the bridge, we`ll be there to kiss you, `cause you`re the bravest, cleverest man in the world. There, just like that, ” and she sealed her forgiveness with a kiss. ¶ CHAPTER IX. ¶ THE RESCUE. ¶ Word had gone round that something sensational in the way of engineering exploits was about to take place at the scene of the bridge building, and, when Tom arrived at the birthright section in his runabout with Alice and little Benny, he could see that about half of the residents of Waratah Valley were already on the spot. ¶ As he looked over the four-rail fence he noticed Bill Blake and Silas Wel- don, Tom Broughton and Cassidy talk- ing together near the edge of the gorge. Pascoe and Jim Burn were deep in consultation at the door of the office, and Jim Burn´s men were working like beavers putting the final touches to the cableway. ¶ “ Amidst the busy crowd of moving men Tom Hardy´s eye rested for a mo- ment on a familiar figure. Surely there could be no possibility of mistaking that slouching form and furtive slink- ing gait. ¶ “ What the deuce is Joe Peterson do- ing here ? ” muttered Hardy to himself in perplexity. He loathed the sight of the brute ever since that day of the drunken outrage three years ago, and of the terrible punishment that he had meted out to Peterson in requittal. ¶ However, he decided not to say any- thing to Alice about his discovery. It would only upset her. Besides, he re- called to mind that within the last week or two a new feeling — a feeling of something more than detestation — seemed to have come over his wife in regard to Peterson. Previously she had only hated him. But latterly her man- ner betokened fear as well as loathing whenever Peterson´s name was men- tioned, whlch° indeed was not often. ¶ It was a keen pleasure to Tom to watch his handsome wife as she looked at all the improvements on the birth- right section, with little Benny, the nominal proprietor, to show her round. The new hut came in for a word of ap- preciation, especially when Tom point- ed out the wireless telephone plant that was in process of erection in the corner of the principal room, and ex- plained that when he was at the store and he was at the hut, they would be able to talk away quite comfortably. ¶ But the object that really rivetted Alice Hardy´s attention and held her enthralled was the giant blue gum that stood with its roots reaching far down into the rocky soil close up to Ryan´s Leap, and its waving crown of foliage that rose aloft until it seemed to touch the sky. It was the only big tree left on the section, and it easily overtopped all the timber on the adjoining block of Crown land on the lower slope that had been taken over by the railway depart- ment. ¶ The blue gum stood right on the high- est point of the hill — a bold landmark that could be plainly seen from Wara- tah Valley township. To a spectator looking towards Big Hill from the town- ship on a clear day the massive, lonely tree wore the appearance of a great lighthouse crowning the summit of an immense cliff. As she gazed up at it, shading her eyes with the palm of her hand, Alice Hardy thrilled with the thought that this mighty landmark was the refuge that had saved her husband and child from death. Its waving branches and glossy foliage seemed to her to be inextricably interwoven with all that was nearest to her heart, and she had a strange premonition that its influence upon her life was not yet over. ¶ “ Come along, Alice, ” shouted Tom, “ they`re all waiting for me. I`m like the man that`s going to be hanged, you see. Can`t get along without me. ” ¶ He led the way through the slip-pan- el of the four-railer, and Alice followed with Benny. Walking down the slope of the hill they found everyone in a hustle of excitement. Jim Burn was shouting directions to the men at the dynamo which supplied the power for operating the cableway, and Pascoe was standing near the precipice with a coil of stout, new, Manila rope in his hand. ¶ “ Morning, Mr. Hardy. Glad to see you looking so fit and well. ” ¶ “ Fit as a four year old, ” said Tom, with a cheerful smile. “ I`ve brought my wife to see the performance. She positively refused to stay away. Thinks I ought to get a leather medal for it, I believe. ” ¶ “ Pleased to see you, Mrs. Hardy, ” said Pascoe, shaking hands wamly°. “ We don`t often have the pleasure of welcoming ladies here, but we appre- ciate their company when they do come. I`ve just been testing this rope at the engine house. It`s fit to hold a house. ” ¶ “ And what has it got to hold ? ” ask- ed Alice, with polite interest. ¶ “ It`s got to hold your husband, Mrs. Hardy, ” said Pascoe, smiling, “ but you mustn`t be nervous when you see him at the end of it. For a man like him, who knows what he is doing and can always keep his head, there`s not the slightest danger, I assure you. ” ¶ Alice peered down into the gorge with an involuntary shudder, and little Benny, picking up a stone, threw it with all his strength over the edge. It was several seconds before the stone struck a great flat-topped boulder at the bottom far below and rebounded in to the thick brushwood. ¶ “ Ugh ! what on awful depth ! ” said Alice. “ I`m sure I shall be too much frightened to look on while Tom is hanging over it. ” ¶ “ Not at all, ” said Pascoe, cheerily. “ You`ll be all right, I assure you. ” ¶ He did not half like the presence of Tom´s wife at the job, but it was too late to object, so he put the best face possible upon it. ¶ “ I hope you won`t mind being left at this side, Mrs. Hardy, for I`m afraid it would be very uncomfortable for you to go across in the carrier. Besides, it would be sure to make you dizzy. ” ¶ Mrs. Hardy protested that she had not the faintest inclination to journey across the yawning chasm in a wooden box slung from the cable. She would be quite comfortable where she was, thank you, and so would little Benny. And then her cheek blanched suddenly. She had caught sight of Joe Peterson, who was standing among the group of men near the generating station. ¶ “ Better not look over the edge any more, Mrs. Hardy, ” said Pascoe kind- ly. “ I`m sure it has made you feel queer already. Why, I declare, you`re as white as a ghost. ” ¶ Alice was trembling all over. She ad- mitted that she felt decidedly faint. She sat down on a big log and wiped her brow with her handkerchief. She asked herself wonderingly, what could be the explanation of Peterson´s pre- sence. Had he found out anything more about Bert Milligan´s frequent visits ? Was he going to carry out his threat to tell Tom about the midnight journey in Black Swan ? The more she thought about it the more puzzled she became. But her instinct told her that Peter- son´s presence boded no good. ¶ “ That`s right, Alice. Sit down and have a good rest, ” said Tom, “ and don`t you worry, about me. This job is as easy as sitting on a log. ” ¶ He walked away with Pascoe, and the two men were soon deep in consultation. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ CHAPTER VIII. — LOVE THAT TRUSTS. ¶ It was a very simple matter for the mailman to transport a couple of the contractors´ men across the gorge, and Joe Black and Alf. Kiggins thoroughly enjoyed the experience. They were taken across separately, with tucker and blankets, and with instructions to make fast the cable end temporarily, and fix the running gear for the carrier. Bert landed Joe Black first and Alf. Kiggins after him almost at the foot of the big blackbutt tree, and then, waving his hand in farewell to Pascoe, Cassidy, and Jim Burn on the other side of the gorge, he rose with Black Swan and resumed his interrupted journey to Bottlebrush. ¶ Thus it was that Alice Hardy´s dark- browed lover unconsciously forged a link in the chain of Destiny. ¶ The wire cable that was to make pos- sible the erection of the bridge for the monorail, was stretched across the chasm, securely moored to a big blue gum on the side where the camp of the construction gang was pitched, and on the other side to the blackbutt directly above the mouth of the tunnel. In due course it would be connected with proper towers. ¶ Next day the carrier was running on the cable ; and men and material could be transported freely backwards and for- wards at the will of the resourceful Pascoe. ¶ The work of preparation went briskly on, and even Jim Burn forgot his pessi- mism as he bustled round the piles of tubes and girders, steel castings and gun-metal plates, identifying each sep- arate piece by the number that it bore, and comparing it with the corresponding entry in the list that he held in his hand. ¶ Tom Hardy, leaning over the four-rail fence that divided little Benny´s birth- right section from the area of the en- gineering operations, surveyed the scene with genuine interest. A handy man was Hardy, with a natural aptitude for every kind of mechanical work, and he quickly established friendly relations with Pascoe and Jim Burn. Catching sight of Pascoe standing at the door of his office, Hardy vaulted over the fence and congratulated him warmly on the progress of the work. ¶ “ Oh, yes, I think we shall do all right now, ” said Pascoe, with a confi- dent smile. “ I`d have an easier time if Jim Burn was not so ready to find diffi- culties, but I expect we`ll worry along somehow. He`s been croaking about the abutments already. ” ¶ “ What`s the trouble about them ? ” ¶ “ No trouble at all on this side. We can fix them easily ; but it`s going to be just a bit awkward on the other side on account of the brow of the cliff over- hanging the gorge so much. ” ¶ “ The men can`t climb down the face of the cliff, I s`pose ? ” ¶ “ That`s it. The cliff has almost a sheer drop to the bottom. The only pos- sible way of getting at the site for the abutments is from above, and the over- hanging rock just stops us. Of course, I could put in a charge and blast out the overhang, but I don`t want to do that if I can manage it any other way. ” ¶ “ I see, ” said Tom. “ The men `ll be let down, of course, in a cradle from the overhead cable to prepare the rock for the cast steel plates, but on account of the overhang you can`t get the cradle close up to the rock-face. ” ¶ “ You`ve grasped it exactly, ” said Pas- coe, throwing a shrewd glance at Tom Hardy. ¶ This man evidently knew what he was talking about. ¶ “ If I had a man, ” he added slowly, “ who was game to go down on the end of a rope slung from the cable, and swing himself in towards the cliff so that he could ge° hold of it with a grapnel and make a line fast, I could fix it up easily. We could draw in the cradle then and secure it, and send the men down to prepare a bed in the rock face for the plates. ” ¶ Tom´s face brightened. ¶ “ I know where you can find a man to take the job on, ” he said quickly. ¶ “ Where ? ” ¶ “ Here. ” ¶ “ What ! You ? ” ¶ “ Yes. Me. ” ¶ Pascoe grasped Tom Hardy´s hand and shook it in silence. ¶ “ You`ve got the grit to do it. I am sure of that, ” he said. “ And the brains too. But, mind you, it`s not going to be a bit of child´s play. I`d have a go at it myself if I hadn`t the responsibility of looking after the men and controlling the whole of the work, but if I met with any accident the construction of the bridge would be delayed, and there would be the deuce to pay. ” ¶ “ Don`t you worry about me, ” said Tom, cheerily. “ I know exactly what to do and how to do it. Got a pair of field glasses in the office ? ” ¶ “ Yes, ” said Pascoe. And then, catch- ing sight of a boy carrying some bolts to the store, “ Hi, sonny ! The field glasses from my office table ! ” ¶ When the boy came back with the field glasses Tom Hardy took them from him and scrutinised the opposite rock- face intently. ¶ “ It`s mighty bare, ” he said, “ but there`s one old stump there, plumb under the middle of the overhang, that ought to do. I`ll take the grapnel down and get a hold of that as soon as you like. ” ¶ Pascoe looked at him admiringly. ¶ “ I wish I had a few more men like you with me, ” he said. “ I`ll have the cableway properly fixed with the towers by to-morrow, and then we can go right ahead. ” ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER VIII. — LOVE THAT TRUSTS. ( Continued ). ¶ “ How do I know what she was cry- ing for ? ” asked Tom frantically. He began to realise with amazement how black this utterly impossible case was looking against him. “ I declare to heaven women are so hopelessly illogical that it`s no use trying to convince them by reason. I tell you I don`t care two straws about Wilga Blake. ” ¶ “ Well, it`s perfectly clear to me that the young woman cares a great deal more than she ought to about you, Tom, And as for being illogical, surely it`s you who are that. Everything points to the conclusion that you have been trifling — I won`t say worse at present — with Wilga Blake, and yet you refuse to give any explanation whatever of conduct that I`ve seen with my own eyes. ” ¶ There was a break in Alice´s voice, and tears were not far away. ¶ For a brief instant Tom Hardy hesi- tated on the brink of his explanation. Why should he not tell his wife all about Wilga Blake´s protracted love-affair with that perplexingly evasive lover of hers ? But then he remembered his pledged word to the girl that he would keep her secret, and his tongue was tied. He reflected that Alice, in her cooler moments, must see the folly of her accusation. Why, he had always loved her sincerely. He had given her a thousand proofs of his devotion. Even now, in the middle of this stupid quarrel about nothing at all, he loved her though she aggravated him. And he would show her that he loved her too. ¶ Moving across the room to his wife, Tom Hardy placed one hand on her waist, and with the other lifted her chin and looked into the grey eyes that were full of stormy lights. ¶ “ Alice, dear, I love you, I love you, ” he said, “ and I want you to give me your trust and to believe me when I tell you that you have my whole heart, and that no other woman but you can claim from me a single thought. Won`t you believe me darling ? ” ¶ There was a ring of sincerity in his words that appealed to the intuition of his wife. Her reason told her that all the evidence was against him. Try as she would, she could find no ground for his refusal to explain circumstances that seemed to prove his unworthiness con- clusively. Yet when his arms were round her and his voice, that carried conviction in every intonation, was in her ears, she felt her distrust and anger vanishing in spite of herself. Her rea- son bade her doubt, but her feeling, which is the woman´s surest guide, told her to believe, and he surrendered — with a completeness the memory of which later on was to lend the last pang of pain that should stir her to desperate action. ¶ Folded in Tom´s arms and listening to his lover-like endearments, Alice Hardy forgot her indignation. After all, this was her man — this one and no other. She even forgot for a few happy minutes her perilous interest in the visits of Bert Milligan, and her instinctive aver- sion and dread of that sinister and menacing Joe Peterson, the thought of whom obsessed her and filled her with premonitions of evil. ¶ Tom Hardy not only loved his wife, hut he was proud of her, and it was his delight to interest her whenever he could do so, in his own rough out-of-door life and in his achievements in the do- main of mechanics. Feeling hat° the re- conciliation was complete and that the black cloud of misunderstanding had blown over, he sat down beside Alice and talked to her, first of herself, and then of the great work that was in progress on Big Hill. With modest pride he told her about his meeting with Pascoe, and about the important job that he had undertaken to carry out for the engineer next day. ¶ Alice warmed herself in the sunshine of her burly husband´s admiration and resolutely banished from her mind all those unpleasant and perplexing specu- lations about the young woman on the other side of the road. She listened to Tom´s description of the difficulty which had yet to be overcome in preparing the abutments for the monorial° bridge, and delighted him by declaring that she would go with him and watch him at his work. ¶ “ Benny and I will go off with you in the morning in the runabout, ” she an- nounced with decision, “ and, when you`ve finished helping Mr. Pascoe with the thingummies for the bridge, we`ll be there to kiss you` cause you`re the bravest, cleverest man in the world. There, just like that, ” and she sealed her forgiveness with a kiss.

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER X. — A BASHFUL LOVER. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ “ I`m glad you do see me, ” remarked Wilga to the empty air, with just a shade of asperity in her voice. “ I`ve been here for quite ten minutes, and I haven`t seen you yet. Would you mind coming out ? ” ¶ “ I only woo-woo-wish I cuck-cuck- could, ” said the voice, “ but I cack-cack- can`t. ” ¶ Wilga was beginning to get annoyed. The position was not only trying, but embarrassing. There she was — left all alone on a bachelor´s premises, but un- able to get a glimpse of him. Presum- ably he was shaving himself when Hardy and she had arrived. And now she would have to wait patiently until the operation was over. Really, men were too annoying sometimes. ¶ “ I suppose you`re shaving, are you, Mr. Broughton ? ” ¶ “ Nun-nun-not exactly, ” Miss Bub- bub-Blake. ” ¶ “ Well, please don`t wait to dress yourself up on my account, Mr. Brough- ton. Just came° as you are,° ” ¶ An explosion of mirthless laughter, that was quickly stifled, greeted this harmless remark. “ I`m afraid I cack- cack-can`t do that, Miss Bub-bub- Blake, ” said the voice of the invisible one. ¶ Wilga noticed with consternation that Mr. Broughton had developed the stut- tering habit since she had last talked with him. Would her love survive the test of constant companionship, with a stuttering husband ? She began to wish that she hadn`t come. ¶ “ Mr. Broughton ! ” ¶ “ Wo-ho-hot is it, Miss Bub-bub- Blake ? ” ¶ “ Aren`t you well, Mr. Broughton ? ” ¶ “ Pup-pup-perfectly well, Miss Bub- bub-Blake. ” ¶ “ Well, why on earth are you talking like that ? ” ¶ “ My tet-tet-teeth are chattering. ” ¶ “ But why are they chattering ? ” asked the bewildered young woman, vaguely wishing that Hardy in his runabout would put in an appearance. ¶ “ Because I`m so cuck-cuck-cold, ” was the startling reply. The day was un- usually warm for early winter — quite balmy in fact. Wilga fell to wondering what unusual set of circumstances had converted this handsome young fellow into an invisible Rumpelstilskin° — a per- son who appeared to get colder as his environment grew warmer. ¶ “ Would you mind coming out here at once, ” called the young lady with deci- sion. “ I would like to see you. ” ¶ “ You really cack-cack-can`t, ” said the voice, with a faint note of despair, “ but if you wouldn`t mum-mum-mind going into the cuck-cuck-cow shed and shutt- ing the dud-dud-door, I`ll be with you in a mum-mum-minute. ” ¶ A horrid doubt assailed the mind of the visitor. Could it be possible that Tom Broughton´s solitary habits had turned his brain ? She had heard of such things happening — among old shep- herds on remote sheep stations, for in- stance. It would be safer at any rate to humor him. ¶ “ All right, Mr. Broughton, ” she called with a forced little laugh. If the un- happy man had really gone out of his mind she could at least barricade herself in the cow shed and hold him off until Hardy arrived. ¶ “ I`ll go and wait for you in the cow shed. Don`t be long. ” ¶ She tripped across the little paddock at the back of the house, opened the door of the shed with trembling hands, and entered the dark, smelly, little place on the verge of tears. ¶ “ Oh, poor Mr. Broughton ! ” she moan- ed with a sudden gush of real feminine sympathy. “ He really does want some- body to look after him. ” ¶ The black Orpington rooster that was solemnly stalking up and down the fowl run, lifting his feet high, as befitted the cock of the walk, and, turning his glit- tering eye hither and thither in search of fresh world to conquer, saw a strange sight as soon as the door of the cow shed closed with a bang. ¶ He saw a human head with dripping hair and goggly eyes emerge above the top of the iron tank and survey the landscape with a rapid, all-embracing glance. Then he saw a human figure upon which the water-drops still glis- tened, rear itself cautiously up from the interior of the tank. It was entirely un- clothed save for a bath towel that was hastily knotted about the waist. The rooster was accustomed to human vaga- ries, so he treated the apparition with silent contempt, but Tom Broughton, for it was indeed he, lifted one leg care- fully over the edge of the tank and waved an investigating foot wildly in the air until it encountered the topmost rung of the ladder that was set up be- side the elevated reservoir. Then he lifted the other leg over, and descended the ladder with many an apprehensive backward glance. Arriving at the ground he ran, or rather flew, along the gravel path regardless of the pebbles that bruised his unprotected feet, until he reached the front door, and so disap- peared from sight. ¶ No eye save that of the black Orping- ton had seen that guilty flight, but the dripping footprints on the stone slab at the base of the wooden piles upon which the tank was erected told a plain tale that a boy scout could have read with ease. ¶ In less than five minutes Tom Brough- ton reappeared, clothed in his best tweed suit, and apparently in his right mind. The stuttering was gone. ¶ “ Miss Blake ! Miss Blake ! ” he shout- ed, tugging nervously at his big black moustache, “ you can come out now. And please, I`m very sorry to have kept you waiting so long. ” ¶ When Wilga Blake emerged from the cowshed the owner of the farm on Three Tree Hill walked to meet her deferen- tially holding his soft felt hat in his hand. ¶ “ My. dear Mr. Broughton, wherever have you been ? ” inquired the young lady, wide-eyed with astonishment. Then her eyes fell on the ladder reared against the tank and on the wet footprints lead- ing round to the front door — and, in a moment, shh understood. A peal of laughter came from her rosy lips. ¶ “ Oh ! ” she said, with a little gasp, “ I do hope that I didn`t intrude ! I never would have come if I had known that it was washing day ! ” ¶ After that they got on splendidly. The ice was broken — no wonder Tom Brough- ton´s teeth were chattering so terribly — and Wilga, who was in her most be- witching mood, speedily made her com- panion feel quite at home with her. Tom realised very quickly that this light- hearted, smiling young woman was a very different person when away from the searching scrutiny of Bill Blake. Be- fore he knew what was happening he found himself unpinning her motor veil and looking down into the brightest pair of brown eyes that he had ever seen. The neat, little, six-roomed, red-tiled, weatherboard house looked like a real home, not merely a place to sleep and eat in, when Wilga Blake stood on the doorstep with her eyes aglow with merriment. ¶ “ Now you must show me the kitchen and let me make you some tea, ” she re- marked in housewifely tones, adding with a wicked little smile, “ I`m sure you must be horribly cold. ” ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER X. — A BASHFUL LOVER. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ They went into the house together, and. Tom followed the girl´s quick move- meats with appreciative glances as she flitted about the place investigating the resources of the kitchen, and peering into every cupboard. Very soon the tea was on the table, and the retiring bachelor was already tamed by his visi- tor, and ready to feed out of her hand. ¶ “ I`m afraid father upset you terribly when you called last month — or was it two months ago, ” she prattled on de- murely, “ but you mustn`t take any notice of him. I try not to myself. Yes, really. And I hope it won`t be another two months before you call again. Will it ? ” ¶ “ No, ” said Tom Broughton with de- cision. ¶ “ Don`t you think Mr. Hardy is an aw- fully nice man ? ” continued Wilga, as she poured but a second cup for her loquacious admirer. “ And so brave, too. Fancy him going down on that rope to fix up their old bridge at Ryan´s Leap ! They do say that somebody cut the rope, and that`s how he got nearly killed. Who could it ever have been, I wonder. Milly Pringle that does for old Thomp- son at the sawmills knows a man that works for Mr. Pascoe, and he told her that Mr. Pascoe says they know the rope was cut, but they haven`t a clue to the man that cut it. She told me so herself. He`s a very nice young fellow, too — the man that Milly know — and he told her that he heard Mr. Pascoe say to Mr. Banks that they would give the man that cut the rope ten years if they could only catch him. Do you think the judge would give him ten years, Mr. Broughton ? ” ¶ “ Probably, ” remarked Tom, after a decent interval for reflection. ¶ “ Do you know, ” went on Wilga breathlessly, “ we nearly ran over that squinny-eyed Joe Peterson this after- noon in the runabout, and he gave Mr. Hardy such a look as we went past. Horrid man that Joe Peterson, and used to drink awful. I remember him coming to our place about three years ago, and getting so drunk at ten o`clock in the morning that father had to throw him out, and he fell on his head in the road — Joe Peterson, I mean, not father — and he went away looking for work, and came back a month after with the re- mains of two black eyes and a big lump on his ear, and calling the Hardys all sorts of bad names, till father had to go and get Mr. Weldon to help him throw him out again, and he gave Mr. Weldon cheek, and Mr. Weldon chased him down the road with his gun, and said he`d shoot him for his scalp only there wasn`t enough tallow under his hide to pay expenses. Now what do you think of a man like that, Mr. Broughton ? ” ¶ Tom Broughton thought heavily for a reasonable period while Wilga recovered her breath and then observed with solemn judicial emphasis, “ Brute ! ” ¶ “ Milly Pringle says, ” pursued Miss Blake, without any perceptible diminu- tion of speed, “ that her boy told her that Mr. Pascoe suspects it was Joe Peterson cut the rope and he talked to Mr. Hardy about it, but Mr. Hardy was very short with him and said he must let the matter drop because he wasn`t going to have his wife — Mrs. Hardy I mean — dragged into it, and Milly said as far as she could make it out Joe Pet- erson had said something once when he was drunk to Mrs. Hardy when Mr. Hardy was away and —— ” ¶ “ What ? ” cried Tom Broughton, rous- ed to sudden animation and volubility. “ Has that cur been annoying Mrs. Hardy ? If I thought he had I`d bung up his squinny eyes so as he couldn`t see out of them for a year. ” ¶ “ My goodness, Mr. Broughton, you do think a lot of Mrs. Hardy, retorted the offended damsel. “ Why, if you only heard the language that Joe Peterson uses in our house whenever father has to put him out you wouldn`t be surprised at anything he`d say to anybody. “ Fat- headed old owls ” and “ crazy old horse- killers ” and everything else, and throw- ing the bar glasses about all the time. Nobody takes any notice of what a man savs when he`s had a few beers. I`m sure I don`t, at any rate. ” Miss Blake be- came all at once decidedly touchy. ¶ Of course Tom Broughton apologised for his unwonted outburst. he even got as far as holding Wilga´s shapely hand and patting it, which mollified that young person considerably. She dexter- ously turned the conversation into a more pleasing personal channel. ¶ “ How do you like me in this hat, Mr. Broughton ? I bought the shape last time I was up in Sydney, and trimmed it myself. I always make my own hats and blouses. Not too bad, is it ? ” ¶ “ Fine, ” pronounced Tom, after a long, critical gaze, which took in the fresh young face as well as the miscellaneous mass of ribbons, beads and artificial flowers above it. ¶ “ I don`t believe you were looking at my hat at all, ” remarked Miss Blake with a roguish glance. She pushed her chair a few inches nearer to Brough- ton, whose bronzed cheek took on a faint tinge of color. ¶ “ Oh, indeed, I was, Miss Blake, ” re- turned Broughton unconvincingly. ¶ “ Well, you shouldn`t have been, ” re- marked the damsel with a delicious little smile that displayed two rows of pearly teeth, “ not if there`s anything better to look at, I mean. ” ¶ The chairs had moved closer at last by some strange influence, like the mys- terious attraction that brings ships at sea together when they are travelling in the same direction. ¶ “ Don`t you ever feel lonely when you are all by yourself in this place ? ” inquired Miss Blake, looking up with obvious interest into Tom Broughton´s handsome, face. ¶ “ Often, ” replied the man. ¶ “ And what do you do when you feel lonely ? ” persisted the maiden, resting a shapely brown hand carelessly on the table. ¶ “ Work, Mss Bloke, ” responded Broughton slowly. ¶ “ Oh, but you can`t always be work- ing, you know. It isn`t good for you, Mr. Broughton. Don`t you ever feel that you`d like to have somebody to talk to you, and smile at you and — and — be interested in you ? ” ¶ “ I do now, Miss Blake. ” ¶ “ Then you mustn`t call me Miss Blake any longer, Mr. Broughton, call me Wilga. ” ¶ “ All right, Miss Blake — I mean Wilga. ” ¶ “ What do you think of my hand. Is it pretty, Tom ? ” ¶ “ Very — Wilga. ” ¶ “ Tom Broughton´s stalwart arm had at last found its tray to his visitor´s lissom waist, and with a new light in his blue eyes the confirmed bachelor placed his disengaged hand under his pretty visi- tor´s chin, and, lifting up the rosy little face, as fresh as an apple, kissed the dewy lips with a long, slow, thrilling pressure that showed him to be not half such a fool as he seemed. ¶ “ Ah-ah-ah, you mustn`t, ” said Wilga with her eyes closed. ¶ Whereupon Tom Broughton did it again. ¶ When Hardy arrived five minutes later in the runabout to take Wilga home he found her sitting on the far side of the table from Broughton. She was talking about the beautifully mild weather that was making the peas come on nicely, and Broughton was listening with his customary fluency. ¶ But Broughton had quite lost his chronic expression of confirmed bache- lorhood, and Wilga´s eyes looked as though you might light candles at them. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER X. — ( Continued. ) ¶ THE RESCUE. ¶ In less than five minutes Tom Broughton reappeared, clothed in his best tweed suit, and apparently in `his right mind. The stuttering was gone. ¶ “ Miss Blake ! Miss Blake ! ” he shouted, tugging nervously at his big black moustache, “ you can come out now. And please, I`m very sorry to have kept you waiting so long. ” ¶ When Wilga Blake emerged from the cowshed, the owner of the farm on Three Tree Hill walked to meet her deferentially holding his soft felt hat in his hand. ¶ “ My dear Mr. Broughton, wherever have you been ? ” inquired the young lady, wide-eyed with astonishment. Then her eyes fell on the ladder reared aaainst° the tank and on the wet footprints leading round to the front door — and, in a moment, she understood. A peal of laughter came from her rosy lips. ¶ “ Oh ! ” she said, with a little gasp, “ I do hope that I didn`t intrude, I never would have come if I had known that if was washing-day ! ” ¶ After that they got on splendidly. The ice was broken — no wonder Tom Broughton´s teeth were chattering so terribly — and Wilga, who was in her most bewitching mood, speedily made her companion feel quite at home with der°. Tom realised very quickly that this light-hearted, smiling, young woman was a very different person when away from the search- ing scrutiny of Bill Blake. Before he knew what was happening he found himself unpining° her motor veil and looking down into the brighest° pair of brown eyes that he had ever seen. The neat, little, six-roomed, rod tilted, weatherboard house looked like a real home, not merely a place to sleep and eat in, when Wilga Blake stood on the doorstep with her eyes aglow with merriment. ¶ “ Now you must show me the kit- chen and let me make you some tea, ” she remarked in housewifely tones, adding with a wicket° little smile, “ I`m sure you must be horri- bly cold. ” ¶ They went into the house together, and Tom followed the girl´s quick movements with appreciative glances as she flitted about the place investi- gating the resources of the kitchen and peering into every cupboard. Very soon the tea was on the table, and the retiring bachelor was al- ready tamed by his visitor, and ready to feed out of her hand. ¶ “ I`m afraid father upset you terri- bly when you called last month — or was it two months ago, ” she pratt- led on demurely, “ but you musn`t take any notice of him. I try not to myself. Yes, really. And I hope it won`t be another two months be- fore you call again. Will it ? ” ¶ “ No, ” said Tom Broughton with decision. ¶ “ Don`t you think Mr. Hardy is an awfully nice man ? ” continued Wilga, as she poured out a second cup for her loquacious admirer. “ And so brave too. Fancy him going down on that rope to fix up their old bridge at Ryan´s Leap ! They do say that somebody cut the rope and that`s how he got nearly killed. Who could it ever have been, I wonder. Milly Pringle that does for old Thom- pson at the sawmills knows a man that works for Mr. Pascoe, and he told her that Mr. Pascoe says they know the rope was cut, but they haven`t a clue to the man that cut it. She told me herself. He`s a nice young fellow too — the man that Milly knows — and he told her that he heard Mr. Pascoe say to Mr. Banks that they would give the man that cut the rope ten years if they could only catch him. Do you think the judge would give him ten years, Mr. Broughton ? ” ¶ “ Probably, ” remarked Tom, after a decent interval for reflection. ¶ “ Do you know, ” went on Wilga breathlessly, “ we nearly ran over that squinny-eyed Joe Peterson this afternoon in the runabout, and he gave Mr. Hardy such a look, as we went past. Horrid man that Joe Peterson, and used to drink awful. I remember him coming to our place about three years ago and getting so drunk at ten o`clock in the morning that father had to throw him out, and he fell on his head in the road — Joe Peterson I mean, not father — and he went away looking for work and came back a month after with the remains of two black eyes and a big lump on his ear and calling the Hardys all sorts of bad names till father had to go and get Mr. Wel- don to help throw him out again, and he gave Mr. Weldon cheek and Mr. Weldon chased him down the road with his gun and said he`d shoot him for his scalp only these wasn`t enough tallow under his hide to pay expenses. Now, what do you think of a man like that, Mr. Brou- ghton ? ” ¶ Tom Broughton thought heavily for a reasonable period while Wilga re- covered her breath and then observed with solemn judicial emphasis, “ Brute ! ” ¶ “ Milly Pringle says, ” pursued Miss Blake, without any perceptible dim- inution of speed, “ that her boy told her that Mr. Pascoe suspects it was Joe Peterson cut the rope and he talked to Mr. Hardy, about it, but Mr. Hardy was very short with him and said he must let the matter drop because he wasn`t going to have his wife — Mrs. Hardy I mean — dragged in- to it, and Milly said as far as she could make it out Joe Peterson had said something once when drunk to Mrs. Hardy when Mr. Hardy was away and —— ” ¶ “ What ? ” cried Tom Broughton, roused to sudden animation and volubility. “ Has that cur been an- noying Mrs. Hardy ? If I thought he had I`d bung up his squinny eyes so as he couldn`t see out of them for a year. ” ¶ “ My goodness, Mr. Broughton, you do think a lot of Mrs. Hardy, ” re- torted the offended damsel. “ Why, if you only heard the language that Joe Peterson uses in our house whenever father has to put him out you wouldn`t be surprised at any thing he`d say to anybody. “ Fat- headed old owls ” and “ crazy old horse-killers ” and everything else, and throwing the bar glasses about all the time. Nobody takes any no- tice of what a man says when he`s had a few beers. I`m sure I don`t at any rate. ” Miss Blake became all at once decidedly touchy. ¶ Of course Tom Broughton apolo- gised for his unwonted outburst. He even got as far as holding Wilga´s shapely hand and patting it, which mollified that young person consider- ably. She dexterously turned the conversation into a more pleasing personal channel. ¶ “ How, do you like me in this hat, Mr. Broughton. I bought the shape last time I was up in Sydney, and trimmed it myself. I always make, my own hats and blouses. Not too bad, is it ? ” ¶ “ Fine, ” pronounced Tom, after a long, critical gaze, which took in the fresh young face as well as the mis- cellaneous mass of ribbons, beads, and artificial flowers above it. I ¶ “ I don`t, believe you were looking at my hat at all, ” remarked Miss Blake with, a roguish glance. She pushed her chair a few inches nearer to Broughton, whose bronzed cheek took on a faint tinge of colour. ¶ “ Oh, indeed, I was, Miss Blake, ” returned Broughton unconvincingly. ¶ “ Well, you shouldn`t have been, ” remarked the damsel with a delici- ous smile that displayed two rows of pearly teeth, “ not if there`s any- thing better to look at, I mean. ” ¶ The chairs had moved closer at last by some strange influence, like the mysterious attraction that brings ships at sea together when they are travelling in the same direction. ¶ “ Don`t you ever feel lonely when you are all by yourself in this place ? ” inquired Miss Blake, look- ing up with obvious interest into Tom Broughton´s handsome face. ¶ “ Often, ” replied the man. ¶ “ And what do you do when you feel lonely ? ” persisted the maiden, resting a shapely brown hand care- lessly on the table. ¶ “ Work, Miss Blake, ” responded Broughton slowly. ¶ “ Oh, but you can`t always be working, you know. It isn`t good for you, Mr. Broughton. Don`t you ever feel that you`d like to have somebody to talk to you, and smile at you and — and — be interested in you ? ” ¶ “ I do now, Miss Blake. ” ¶ “ Then you needn`t call me Miss Blake any longer, Mr. Broughton, call me Wilga. ” ¶ “ All right, Miss Blake — I mean Wilga, ” ¶ “ What do you think of my hand. Is it pretty — Tom ? ” ¶ “ Very — Wilga. ” ¶ “ There now, I declare you`re gett- ing on famously. Oh, dear me, not quite so fast though. ” Tom Broughton´s stalwart arm had at last found its way to his visit- or´s lissom waist, and with a new light on his eyes the confirmed bach- elor placed his disengaged hand un- der his pretty visitor´s chin, and, lifting up the rosy little face, as fresh as an apple, kissed the dewy lips with a long, slow, thrilling pres- sure that showed him to be not half such a fool as he seemed. ¶ “ Ah-ah-ah, you musn`t ” said Wilga with her eyes closed. ¶ Whereupon Tom Broughton did it again. ¶ When Hardy arrived five minutes later in the runabout to take Wil- ga home he found her sitting on the far side of the table from Brough- ton. She was talking about the beau- tifully mild weather that was mak- ing the peas come on nicely, and Broughton was listening with his customary fluency. ¶ But Broughton had quite lost his chronic expression of confirmed bache- lorhood, and Wilga´s eyes looked as though you might light candles at them. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ Love and the Æroplane. ¶ CHAPTER X. ¶ A BASHFUL LOVER. ¶ She tripped across the little pad- dock at the back of the house, opened the door of the shed with trembling hands, and entered the dark, smelly, little place on the verge of tears. ¶ “ Oh, poor Mr. Broughton ! ” she moaned, with a sudden gush of real feminine sympathy. “ He really does want somebody to look after him. ” ¶ The black Orpington rooster that was solemnly stalking up and down the fowl run, lifting his feet high, as be- fitted the cock of the walk, and, turn- ing his glittering eye hither and thith- er in search of fresh worlds to con- quer, saw a strange sight as soon as the door of the cow shed closed with a bang. ¶ He saw a human head with dripping hair and goggly eyes emerge above the top of the iron tank and survey the landscape with a rapid, all-embracing glance. Then he saw a human figure upon which the water drops still glis- tened, rear itself cautiously up from the interior of the tank. It was entirely unclothed save for a bath towel that was hastily knotted about the waist. The rooster was accustomed to human vagaries, so he treated the apparition with silent contempt, but Tom Brough- ton, for it was indeed he, lifted one leg carefully over the edge of the tank and waved an investigating foot wild- ly in the air until it encountered the topmost rung of the ladder that was set up beside the elevated reservoir. Then he lifted the other leg over, and de- scended the ladder with many an ap- prehensive backward glance. Arriv- ing at the ground he ran, or rather flew, along the gravel path regardless of the pebbles that bruised his unpro- tected feet, until he reached the front door, and so disappeared from sight. ¶ No eye save that of the black Or- pington had seen that guilty flight, but the dripping footprints on the stone slab at the base of the wooden piles upon which the tank was erected told a plain tale that a boy scout could have read with ease. ¶ In less than five minutes Tom Brough- ton reappeared, clothed in his best tweed suit, and apparently in his right mind. The stuttering was gone. ¶ “ Miss Blake ! Miss Blake ! ” he shouted, tugging nervously at his big black moustache, “ you can come out now. And please, I`m very sorry to have kept you waiting so long. ” ¶ When Wilga Blake emerged from the cow shed the owner of the farm on Three Tree Hill waked° to meet her de- ferentially holding his soft felt hat in his hand. ¶ “ My dear Mr. Broughton, wherever have you been ? ” inquired the young lady, wide-eyed with astonishment. Then her eyes fell on the ladder reared against the tank and on the wet foot- prints leading round to the front door — and, in a moment, she understood. A peal of laughter came from her rosy lips. ¶ “ Oh ! ” she said with a little gasp, “ I do hope hat° I didn`t intrude. I never would have come if I had known that it was washing day ! ” ¶ After that they got on splendidly. The ice was broken — no wonder Tom Broughton´s teeth were chattering so terribly — and Wilga, who was in her most bewitching mood, speedily made her companion feel quite at home with her. Tom realised very quickly that this light-hearted, smiling, young wo- man was a very different person when away from the searching scrutiny of Bill Blake. Before he knew what was happening he found himself unpinning her motor veil, and looking down into the brightest pair of brow° eyes that he had ever seen. The neat, little, six- roomed, red-tiled, weatherboard house looked like a real home, not merely a place to sleep and eat in, when Wilga Blake stood on the doorstep with her eyes aglow with merriment. ¶ “ Now you must show me the kitchen and let me make you some tea, ” she re- marked in housewifely tones, adding with a wicked little smile, “ I`m sure you must be horribly cold. ” ¶ They went into the house together, and Tom followed the girl´s quick movements with appreciative glances as she flitted about the place investi- gating the resources of the kitchen and peering into every cupboard. Very soon the tea was on the table, and the retiring bachelor was already tamed by his visitor, and ready to feed out of her hand. ¶ “ I`m afraid father upset you terrib- ly when you called last month — or was two months ago, ” she prattled on demurely, “ but you must`nt° take any notice of him. I try not to myself. Yes, really. And I hope it won`t be an- other two months before you call again. Will it ? ” ¶ “ No, ” said Tom Broughton with de- cision. ¶ “ Don`t you think Mr. Hardy is an awfully nice man ? ” continued Wilga, as she poured out a second cup for her loquacious admirer. “ And so brave too. Fancy him going down on that rope to fix up their old bridge at Ryan´s Leap ! They do say that somebody cut the rope and that`s how he got nearly killed. Who could it ever have been, I wonder ? Milly Pringle that does for old Thompson at the saw mills knows a man that works for Mr. Pascoe, and he told her that Mr. Pascoe says they know the rope was cut, but they haven`t a clue to the man that cut it. She told me herself. He`s a very nice young fellow too — the man that Milly knows — and he told her that he heard Mr. Pascoe say to Mr. Banks that they would give the man that cut the rope ten years if they could only catch him. Do you think the judge would give him ten years, Mr. Broughton ? ” ¶ “ Probably, ” remarked Tom, after a decent interval of reflection. ¶ “ Do you know, ” went on Wilga breathlessly, “ we nearly ran over that squinny-eyed Joe Peterson this after- noon in the runabout, and he gave Mr. Hardy such a look as we went past. Horrid man that Joe Peterson, and used to drink awful. I remember him coming to our place about three years ago and getting so drunk at ten o`clock in the morning that father had to throw him out, and he fell on his head in the road — Joe Peterson, I mean, not father — and he went away looking for work and came back a month after with the remains of two black eyes and a big lump on his ear, and calling the Hardys all sorts of bad names, till father had to go and get Mr. Weldon to help him throw him out again, and he gave Mr. Weldon cheek, and Mr. Weldon chased him down the road with his gun, and said he`d shoot him for his scalp only there wasn`t enough tallow under his hide to pay expenses. Now, what do you think of a man like that, Mr. Broughton ? ” ¶ Tom Broughton thought heavily for a reasonable period while Wilga re- covered her breath, and then observed with solemn judicial emphasis, “ Brute ! ” ¶ “ Milly Pringle says, ” pursued Miss Blake, without any perceptible diminu- tion of speed, “ that her boy told her that Mr. Pascoe suspects it was Joe Peterson cut the rope, and he talked to Mr. Hardy about it, but Mr. Hardy was very short with him, and said he must let the matter drop, because he wasn`t going to have his wife — Mrs. Hardy I mean — dragged into it, and Milly said as far as she could make it out Joe Peterson had said something once when he was drunk to Mrs. Hardy when Mr. Hardy was away and —— ” ¶ “ What ? ” cried Tom Broughton, roused to sudden, animation and volu- bility. “ Has that cur been annoying Mrs. Hardy ? If I thought he had I`d bung up his squinny eyes so as he couldn`t see out of them for a year. ” ¶ “ My goodness, Mr. Broughton, you do think a lot of Mrs. Hardy, ” retort- ed the offended damsel. “ Why, if you only heard the language that Joe Peter- son uses in our house whenever father has to put him out you wouldn`t be surprised at anything he`d say to any- body.° “ Fat-headed old owls, ” and “ crazy old horse killers, ” and every- thing else, and throwing the bar glasses about all the time. Nobody takes any notice of what a man says when he`s had a few beers. I`m sure I don`t, at any rate. ” Miss Blake became all at once decidedly touchy. ¶ Of course Tom Broughton apologised for his unwonted outburst. He even got as far as holding Wilga´s shapely hand and patting it, which mollified that young person considerably. She dex- terously turned the conversation into a more personal channel. ¶ “ How do you like me in this hat, Mr. Broughton ? I bought the shape last time I was up in Sydney, and trimmed it myself. I always make my own hats and blouses. Not too bad, is it ? ” ¶ “ Fine, ” pronounced Tom, after a long, critical gaze, which took in the fresh, young face as well as the miscel- laneous mass of ribbons, beads, and ar- tificial flowers above it. ¶ “ I don`t believe you were looking at my hat at all, ” remarked Miss Blake with a roguish glance. She pushed her chair a few inches nearer to Broughton, whose bronzed cheek took on a faint tinge of colour. ¶ “ Og, indeed, I was, Miss Blake, ” re- turned Broughton unconvincingly. ¶ “ Well, you shouldn`t have been, ” re- marked the damsel with a delicious little smile that displayed two rows of pearly teeth, “ not if there`s anything better to look at, I mean. ” ¶ The chairs had moved closer at last by some strange influence, like the mys- terious attraction that brings ships at sea together when they are travelling in the same direction. ¶ “ Don`t you ever feel lonely when you are all by yourself in this place ? ” inquired Miss Blake, looking up with obvious interest into Tom Broughton´s handsome face. ¶ “ Often, ” replied the man. ¶ “ And what do you do when you feel lonely ? ” persisted the maiden, resting a shapely brown hand carelessly on the table. ¶ “ Work, Miss Blake, ” responded Broughton slowly. ¶ “ Oh, but you can`t always be work- ing, you know. Is° isn`t good for you, Mr. Broughton. Don`t you ever feel that you`d like to have somebody to talk to you, and smile at you — and— and — be interested in you ? ” ¶ “ I do now, Miss Blake. ” ¶ “ Then you needn`t call me Miss Blake any longer, Mr. Broughton, call me Wilga. ” ¶ “ All right, Miss Blake — I mean Wil- ga. ” ¶ “ What do you think of my hand. Is it pretty — Tom ? ” ¶ “ Very — Wilga. ” ¶ “ There now, I declare you`re getting on famously. Oh, dear me, not quite so fast, though. ” ¶ Tom Broughton´s stalwart arm had at last found its way to his visitor´s lis- som waist, and with a new light in his blue eyes the confirmed bachelor placed his disengaged hand under his pretty visitor´s chin, and, lifting up the rosy little face, as fresh as an apple, kissed the dewy lips with a long, slow, thril- ling pressure, that showed him to be not half such a fool as he seemed. ¶ “ Ah-ah-ah, you mustn`t, ” said Wil- ga, with her eyes closed. ¶ Whereupon Tom Broughton did it again. ¶ When Hardy arrived five minutes lat- er in the runabout to take Wilga home, he found her sitting on the far side of the table from Broughton. She was talking about the beautifully mild wea- ther that was making the peas come on nicely, and Broughton was listening with his customary fluency. ¶ But Broughton had quite lost his chronic expression of confimed° bache- lorhood, and Wilga´s eyes looked as though you might light candles at them. ¶ CHAPTER XI. ¶ A BUSH BANQUET. ¶ All that winter was a quiet and hap- py time for Waratah Valley. For Alice Hardy it was a time of gentle content- ment. She basked in the steady glow of Hardy´s love, for all the old misun- derstandings had been dissipated, and their lovers´ quarrels had indeed proved to be love´s renewing. Little Benny, too, was growing in wisdom and sta- ture. His father was making him a little single-seated electric runabout, to take him backward and forwards be- tween Waratah Valley and Acacia Ridge, where the nearest schol° was lo- cated, and, though the little chap´s great ambition was to possess an aero- plane of his own, like Mr. Cassidy´s, he agreed to be satisfied with the run- about “ until he was ten. ” ¶ Tom Hardy spent all his spare time, when he was not working at the birth- right section, upon the little electric one-seated car for Benny, and his com- panionship with Wilga Blako practical- ly ceased, much to Alice´s satisfaction. ¶ Meanwhile Mr. Pascoe and the con- struction gang had been working steadily at the new bridge across Ry- an´s Leap. Tho tunnel also had been completed, and the track from Bottle- brush laid right up to the gorge, and thence, on the far side, to Waratah Valley. The coming of spring, which coincided with Tom Broughton´s pro- posal to Wilga, also saw the comple- tion of the bridge, in the commence- ment of which both the husband and the would-be lover of Alice Hardy had played such important part. ¶ It was generally admitted throughout the township that the credit for origi- nating the idea of having a magnifi- cent function to celebrate the opening of the monorail extension must be giv- en to Bill Blake. ¶ “ It come to me quite suddent-like, ” the hotel keeper explained to his crony, Silas Weldon, over a morning deep-sink- er on the verandah. “ I was just dozing off to sleep when I begun to think of that great stampede and —— ” ¶ “ Blast the great stampede, ” inter- rupted Mr. Weldon furiously, “ you`re never done throwin` it up ter me. Ef it hadn`t been for that cursed little soap peddler I`d have had —— ” ¶ “ Well, well, don`t say no more about it, ” interjected Bill Blake hurriedly, foreseeing another distorted account of the memorable episode. “ I`m sure I don`t want to `urt no man´s feelin´s. I was just sayin` that the rec`lection of Ryan´s Leap an` all the wild `orses fall- in` over the edge —— ” ¶ “ Yah ! There you go again. Drop it, can`t you ? Drop it ! ” ¶ “ I was just goin` to say, ” pursued Bill Blake vehemently, “ that I`m blowed if I know wot I was goin` ter say now, `cos you`ve druv it fair out of my block with yer bad temper ; but, anyhow, I got the idea when I was lyin` in bed the other night, an` I says-to my- self, ‘ Why not have an opening cere- mony ? ’ I says, ‘ and I`ll supply, the beer. ’ Good enough, too. You`ll re- member I told you about it in the morn- in`, Silas, before that man Pascoe so much as gave a hint. ” ¶ “ You did, ” said Silas, more calmly. “ You cert`nly said that you would supply the beer. Reckon you orter sell enough on that one occasion to give Wilga a pretty fair cheque on `er wed- din` day. ” ¶ “ Weddin` day, be jiggered, “ ejacu- lated Bill angrily. “ To think of me own flesh and blood goin` away from me like that to cook another man´s dinners almost puts me off me beer. Wot`cher want ter keep on remindin` me of Wilga´s wedding for, when you know it means that I`ll have to pay wages to a housekeeper ? ” ¶ “ Well, wot`cher want ter keep on re- mindin` me of the great stampede for when you know it means that I have ter go stalkin` fer days at a time now before I can get anywhere near the few mis`ble brumbies wot is left ? ” ¶ “ You can be as aggravatin` as you like, Silas, ” put in Bill with dignity, “ but you can`t deny, at any rate, that it was I who proposed to our member to take the matter up. And, my colonial, how did he rise to it ? I never knew Andy M`Pherson threatened with so much intelligence before. Come to think of it, `twas I who gave him the two best jobs he`s ever `ad in the `Ouse — bringin` in the Horse Pest Bill an` buttonholin` the Premier to get the Governor to come down here and de- clare the monorail open to Waratah Valley. You`ll see Andy un `is glory when the day comes, I`ll promise ye. ” ¶ “ I`m goin` ter plug my earholes be- fore I goes ter the bridge, ” remarked Silas aggressively. “ I knows wot An- dy is like at the best of times, an` I ain`t agoin` ter risk him after the ban- quet. ” ¶ “ You needn`t worry about `im, ” said Bill reassuringly, “ wot you gotter think about is to be on hand when I`m ready, to interdooce ye to the Governor. We`ve got it all fixed for him to come, an` he`s agoin` ter bring, his Ada Kong along, too. ” ¶ “ I `ope she won`t mind settin` on a candle box, ” observed Mr. Weldon grimly, “ cos there`s never enough chairs in them markees. ” ¶ “ `Tain`t a feymale, ” spluttered Bill Blake from the heights of his superior knowledge, “ it`s the young sprig in gilt embroidery an` tight pants, wot `as to keep `is nibs from goin` ter sleep afore, his speech comes on, an` `as to parse `im the gold cigarette case with the di`mond monnygram` to it when `e feels `e wants a smoke. ” ¶ Bill prided himself on his knowledge of Vice-regal etiquette. He had once seen a former State Governor pass through Waratah Valley in a motor car and a cloud of dust. ¶ An incredulous grunt from Silas was the only response, but the old man made up his mind to be on top when the Gov- ernor put in an appearance, and to see what his Ada Kong was like for him- self. ¶ As the eventful day approached there weore numerous conferences between Bill Blake and Andy M`Pherson, the member for the district. Mr. M`Pher- son was a thick-set, little man, with a shaved upper lip, heavy grizzled whis- kers, and a remarkable gift of fluency. He prided himself on his local know- ledge, and never lost an opportunity of “ making himself safe in the constitu- ency. ” This monorail business might get him into the Government yet. He began to have visions of a knighthood. “ Sir Andrew and Lady M`Pherson ” — ah, that would compensate for much when the Ada Kong announced the visitors´ names at the garden party in race week. ¶ A reception committee was formed, with Mr. M`Pherson as chairman, and leading local residents as members. Bill Blake, Tom Hardy, and Tom Broughton° did most of the work, and there was a fair sprinkling of farmers from the surrounding district who lis- tened attentively to suggestions and consumed vast quantities of beer in Bill Blake´s best parlour, where the meetings were held. Alter much deli- beration it was decided to hire a large marquee from Bottlebrush, and to en- trust the catering for the banquet to the short-sleeved individual whom Mr. M`Pherson designated with a patron- ising wave of the hand as “ our worthy host°, Mr. William Blake. ” Wilga en- gaged a corps d`elite of the most ener- getic young women in the township to assist in the preparations, and, on the morning of the longed-for day. Mr. Blithe, in a new, ready-made tweed suit, specially Imported from Sydney, and brought to Waratah Valley per parcel post by Bert Milligan in Black Swan, was able to announce with pride that “ there wasn`t a turkey within five miles that had its head on. ” ¶ The marquee was erected close to the bridge, and a large and representative gathering of residents, according to the fluent phraseology of the reporter of the “ Bottlebrush Banner, ” attended to welcome His Excellency the Gover- nor and suite, the honourable the Pre- mier, Mr. Blurt, and the Chief Commis- sioner of Railways, Mr. Trackson, who arrived in large, high-powered motor cars, attended by their respective satel- lites. Prominent in the gathering were Messrs. Plunk and Biffen, of the emin- ent firm of Plunk, Biffen and Son, con- tractors. They were gorgeously array- ed in frock coats of the Victorian era, and preternaturally shiny bell-toppers, and when they were presented to His Excellency the Governor by Mr. M`Pherson, they accepted his courteous congratulations upon the completion of the magnificent bridge with becoming dignity, and carefully stood in front of Mr Pascoe for fear he might think that any of the Governor´s kindly haw- haws were intended for him. ¶ His Excellency was a recent arrival from England, tall, beaky, and rather difficult to understand. When he ex- pressed the opinion to Mr. Plunk that it was “ a vewy naice little bwidge, ” Mr. Plunk, who was a little puzzled, courteously corrected him. “ No, your Excellency, ” he said, “ it is of the parabolic three-hinged type ; a very use- ful type where you have a deep gorge and a geological formation such as we find here. ” ¶ Mr. M`Pherson and Bill Blake then escorted the Governor half way across the bridge, and allowed him to under- stand that they personally were entitled to most of the credit of constructing it. Bill Blake pointed out the abutments on the far side and explained Tom Hardy´s narrow escape from death while mak- ing the first connection with the cliff face. He showed his Excellency exact- ly how the grapnel with a line attached had been made fast, and how, when Tom had made the connection, the rig- gers were able to hook up the line of the grapnel and so make fast other lines to hold the cradle while the face of the rock was prepared for the plates of the abutments. ¶ “ Indeed ! ” observed his Excellency. “ Most intewesting, weally ! ” ¶ “ There was a slight unpleasantness ow- ing to the Premier and the Chief Com- missioner of Railways having to walk behind with the resplendent Ada Kong because there was barely room for three abreast on the bridge, and neither M`Pherson nor Bill Blake would let anybody else walk next to the Gover- nor. However, the little cloud passed over, with some mutterings from Mr. Blurt, and a few fervid expletives from Mr. Trackson. ¶ His Excellency, having been instruct- ed by Mr. M`Pherson, then pulled a stout cord connected with a temporary flag pole set up on the bridge, and there- by caused the Australian flag to flutter out over the gorge, amid a salvo of cheers from all the spectators on the hill side. When the cheers subsided his Excellency performed his important duty in a high, clear voice, which was perfectly audible though the words were quite unintelligible to the eager listen- ers. The reporter of the “ Bottlebrush Banner, ” who had heard several, vice- regal speeches in his time, made the best guess at the actual words , em- ployed by his Excellency. He confided to Tom Hardy that the graceful and polished formula pronounced by the Governor ran like this : — “ I have now the pleashaw and the honah to declah this monowail extension open, and to congwatulate the — haw — Chief Com- missioner of Wailways and the — haw — contwactors upon the completion of this twuly magnificent — haw — bridge. ” ¶ As soon as the ceremony was over, there was a wild rush to the marquee. Bill Blake and M`Pherson, grasping an arm of the Governor, piloted him through the excited crowd and dumped him down on a cane chair on the chair- man´s right, Mr. M`Pherson, by virtue of his position as the local member, as- suming the onerous duties of chairman. Mr. Blurt, Mr. Trackson, and Captain the Honourable Reginald Sidney Vavas- our Bohun de Melton Mowbray, of His Majesty´s Royal Horse Guards ( Blue ), whom Bill Blake continued to refer to in stentorian tones as “ Ada Kong, ” were all accommodated on candle boxes set on end, as being more comfortable than the planks set up on trestles, which were provided for the remainder of the banqueters, numbering about sixty. ¶ The banqueters addressed themselves to Bill Blake´s extensive cold collation with zeal untempered by discretion. Turkeys, fowls, and cold ham vanished like new-fallen snow. There was a case of champagne for the notables, and plenty of beer and Australian wine for the rank and file, and when Mr M`Pher- son rose to propose the customary loyal toast the audience responded tumultu- ously. ¶ The front of the marquee was open, and the general public, including sever- al ladies, most of the construction gang, and all the small boys who could man- age to be present, crowded in to hear the speeches. ¶ Few pens, and certainly not that of the “ Bottlebrush Banner ” reporter, who had done his best to assuage a mighty thirst, could do justice to Bill Blake´s oratory when he rose to pro- pose the toast of His Excellency the Governor. The few disjointed re- marks that appeared in the “ Banner ” next day as Bill Blake´s speech were a mere travesty of that remarkable deliv- erance, and as the general public crowd- ed round the open front of the marquee to catch the pearls of wisdom as they fell from Mr. Blake´s lips, Alice Hardy, who kept a tight hold of little Benny´s hand, was pushed by the surging throng right inside the tent. ¶ By a great piece of luck the banquet- er who occupied the end seat at the long table near the spot where Mrs. Hardy made her involuntary entrance happen- ed to be Tom Broughton, whose natural modesty had prompted him to take the lowest place. Broughton shoved up against his neighbour, who was none other than mad Mick Mahony, and made room on the bench beside him for Alice, who was overjoyed to find a re- fuge, while little Benny was quite hap- py standing beside her. ¶ “ An` I`m sure we all `opes, “ perorat- ed Bill Blake, “ that when His Excel- lency here goes back to England an` has a bit er lunch with the King, he`ll get as tender a bit er turkey an` as good a glarss er wine at Windsor Castle as wot he `as got `er to-day at Ryan´s Leap. ” ¶ Loud and prolonged cheering, under cover of which Tom Broughton remark- ed to Alice that Bill Blake ought to have been a preacher or an auctioneer, and Alice, acknowledged the remark with one of her brightest smiles. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER X. — A BASHFUL LOVER. ¶ In a few weeks Tom Hardy had com- pletely recovered. He kept away from Wilga Blake as much as possible, hav- ing come to the conclusion that he had no natural qualifications for the career of a go-between, and that there was no point whatever in needlessly annoying his wife for the sake of a young woman for whom he did not care twopence. Wilga would have to catch Tom Brough- ton herself if she wanted him. Hardy told himself that he could not assist her any further. It wasn`t good enough. ¶ There was a new bond between Hardy and his wife since the adventure at Ryan´s Leap. His narrow escape on that occasion had drawn them closer to- gether, and he saw with satisfaction that Alice gave no encouragement to Bert Milligan to waste the time of the Go- vernment in gossiping with her when he arrived every afternoon with the mails. Alice indeed had grown unusually quiet.° He would have to think about taking her away for a holiday as soon as the new monorail line was open. ¶ Hardy dropped back into his old habit of attending to the mails himself and dealing personally with Bert Milligan. The black-browed mailman seemed to be growing more taciturn than ever. The prospect of being removed from the Bottlebrush-Waratah Valley run ss soon as the monorail track was completed evidently weighed on his mind. He sel- dom spoke to Hardy except in mono- syllables. But Tom was not the man to worry himself unnecessarily about an- other man´s business. His own troubles were quite sufficient for him. ¶ It was all very well for him to say that he would have nothing more to do with Wilga, but he had reckoned with- out that ingratiating young lady, who spedily set her wits to work to secure, by diligence and strict attention to busi- ness, a continuance of his esteemed patronage. ¶ Tom´s good resolutions evaporated under the influence of Wilga´s ingenuous smiles, and, buoyed up by the conscious- ness that his motives were purely disin- terested, he agreed one afternoon early in the winter to pick her up in his runabout a couple of miles from the township and take her out to visit Tom Broughton at his farm at Three Tree Hill. Hardy did not think it necessary to mention the matter to his wife. His one desire was to assist Wilga to come to some definite arrangement with her dilatory admirer, and, as Wilga had not made a confidante of Alice, there was no need to-worry his wife about it. ¶ Tom´s logic was unanswerable. ¶ It was a pretty warm afternoon for the time of the year when Tom, who had to run out to the “ birthright ” section in any case picked up Wilga Blake just outside the township and rattled away with her to Three Tree Hill. Wilga´s neat coat and skirt of well-cut tweed showed off her trim figure to perfection, and she was in the best of spirits. ¶ “ I`ll go right up to the house with you, ” said Tom reassuringly, “ an dig up Broughton for you myself. Then I`ll leave you there for tea and chatter, and call back for you on my way home. ” ¶ Wilga was quite excited at the pros- pect of paying an afternoon call on her moderately effusive admirer. She tipped her hat a shade further forward, pouted her rosy lips into a most alluring Cupid´s bow in the effort to make her veil set right, and smiled with engaging candor at Tom Hardy. ¶ “ You`re a very nice man, ” she re- marked, with beautiful frankness, “ and I don`t know what I`d do without you. ” ¶ “ That`s right, ” said Tom. “ Keep it up. If you talk like than to Broughton he`s bound to come out of his burrow and take notice. ” ¶ Wilga Blake was so young and fresh and full of vivid life,: her eyes were sparkling so brightly, her lips were so dewy and her teeth were so exquisitely white that Tom Hardy, looking into her smiling, roguish face, mentally vowed that Broughton was an idiot to keep her waiting. ¶ As the thought flashed through his mind the runabout swung round a cor- ner, and almost ran over a man who was slouching along the middle of the road with his eyes fixed on the ground. ¶ “ Hi ! Look out ! ” yelled Tom. The man looked up quickly and leaped aside, avoiding the car by a bare eighteen inches. His eyes rested for a second on Tom Hardy and then on Wilga Blake. ¶ “ So that`s it, is it ? ” he muttered sour- ly. “ Seems like I`ve got `em both ways now. I`ll pay `em back orl right — both on `em — before I`m done with `em. Nice respeckable `usband an` wife they are — `im drivin` around with that artful little piece from the pub, an `er yabberin` with the mailman when the boss is away. Yah ! ” ¶ Joe Peterson spat upon the ground to indicate his contempt. But the run- about was already out of sight. ¶ A few minutes later it drew up in front of Broughton´s new six-roomed house on Three Tree Hill, and Hardy emitted several coo-ees without eliciting any response. ¶ “ `Fraid he`s out, Wilga, ” said Tom apprehensively. “ He`s prob`ly gone to earth again. ” ¶ “ Try again, ” urged Wilga in despera- tion. She was determined not to give in without a struggle. ¶ Once more Tom Hardy lifted up his voice to signify the arrival of visitors, and the echoes had not died away when an answer was forthcoming. It was Broughton´s voice all right. “ I`ll be there in a minute, ” he said. ¶ “ Now, I`ll just do a scoot, ” explained Tom Hardy to Wilga. “ You`ll get on with him much better without me, and I`ll call back `bout five o`clock. Good luck. ” ¶ He swung the runabout round, skirt- ed the vegetable patch, and dashed out through the open gate at the end of the paling fence. ¶ “ Wilga Blake waited resignedly for the owner of the premises to arrive, and oc- cupied the time in examining the sur- roundings. She reflected sagely that some day she might be the mistress of the farm on Three Tree Hill, and she already saw several things that required to be altered. The orchard wanted doing up, the fowl run was not nearly big enough, and that unsightly old iron tank at the corner would have to come down, of course. ¶ “ Hullo there, Tom Hardy ! ” ¶ It was Broughton´s voice unmistak- ably, but Wilga was puzzled to locate it. She looked up and down, back and for- ward, and round and round, but the owner of the voice remained invisible. ¶ “ Mr. Hardy has gone away, ” the won- dering girl announced to empty space. “ He`ll be back at five o`clock. I`m Wilga Blake. He`s just dropped me here. ” ¶ Of course it couldn`t have been a grcan that she heard. But it sounded painfully like one. ¶ “ I thought you might like to see me, Mr. Broughton, ” continued Wilga, with a little gurgle that was supposed to rep- resent artless laughter, but sounded more like an uneasy and self-conscious as an intruder. ” ¶ “ Cuck-cuck-course not, ” said the in- visible voice. “ Very pup-pup-pleased to see you, I`m sure. ” But something very like desperation was discernible in the dolorous welcome. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER XI. — A BUSH BANQUET. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ The marquee was erected close to the bridge, and a large, and representative gathering of residents, according to the fluent phraseology of the reporter of the “ Bottlebrush Banner, ” attended to wel- come His Excellency the Governor and suite, the honorable the Premier, Mr. Blurt, and the Chief Commissioner of Railways, Mr. Trackson, who arrived in large, high-powered motor cars, attend- ed by their respective satellites. Pro- minent in the gathering, were Messrs. Plunk and Biffen, of the eminent firm of Plunk, Biffen, and Son, contractors. They were gorgeously arrayed in frock coats of the Victorian era, and preter- naturally shiny bell-toppers, and when they were presented to His Excellency the Governor by Mr. McPherson, they accepted his courteous congratulations upon the completion of the magnificent bridge with becoming dignity, and care- fully stood in front of Mr. Pascoe for fear he might think that any of the Go- vernor´s kindly haw-haws were intended for him. ¶ His Excellency was a recent arrival from England, tall, beaky, and rather difficult to understand. When he ex- pressed the opinion to Mr. Plunk that it was “ a vewy naice little bwidge, ” Mr. Plunk, who was a littde° puzzled, cour- teously corrected him. “ No, your Ex- cellency, ” he said, “ it is of the para- bolic three-hinged type : a very useful type where you have a deep gorge, and a geological formation such as we find here. ” ¶ Mr. M`Pherson and Bill Blake then escorted the Governor half way across the bridge, and allowed him to under- stand that they personally were entitled, to most of the credit of constructing it. Bill Blake pointed out the abutments on the far side, and explained Tom Hardy´s narrow escape from death while making the first connection with the cliff-face. He showed his Excellency exactly how the grapnel with a line attached had been made fast, and how, when Tom had made the connection, the riggers were able to hook up the line of the grapnel, and so make fast other lines to hold the cradle while the face of the rock was prepared for. the plates of the abut- ments. ¶ “ In-deed ! ” observed his Excellency. “ Most intewesting, weally ! ” ¶ There was a slight unpleasantness ow- ing to the Premier and the Chief Com- missioner of Railways having to walk behind with the resplendent Ada Kong, because there was barely room for three abreast on the bridge, and neither M`Pherson nor Bill Blake would let any- body else walk next to the Governor. However, the little cloud passed over with some mutterings from Mr. Blurt and a few fervid expletives from Mr. Trackson. ¶ His Excellency, having been in structed by Mr. M`Pherson, then pulled a stout cord connected with a temporary flagpole set up on the bridge, and there- by caused the Australian flag to flutter out over the gorge, amid a salvo of cheers from all the spectators on the hill side. When the cheers subsided his Excellency performed his important duty in a high, clear voice, which was per- fectly audible, though the words were quite unintelligible to the eager listen- ers. The reporter of the “ Bottlebrush Banner, ” who had heard several vice- regal speeches in his time, made the best guess at the actual words employed by his Excellency. He confided to Tom Hardy that the graceful and polished formula pronounced by the Governor ran like this : “ I have now the pleashaw and the honah to declah this monowail extension open, and to congwatulate the — haw — Chief Commissioner of Wail- ways and the — haw — contwactors upon the completion of this twuly magnificent — haw — bwidge. ” ¶ As soon as the ceremony was over there was a wild rush to the marquee. Bill Blake and M`Pherson, grasping each an arm of the Governor, piloted him through, the excited crowd, and dumped him down on a cane chair on the chairman´s right. Mr. M`Pherson, by virtue of his portion as the local mem- ber, assuming the onerous duties of chairman. Mr. Blurt, Mr. Trackson, and Captain the Honorable Reginald Sidney Vasasour Bohun de Melton Mow- bray, of His Majesty´s Royal Horse Guards (Blue), whom Bill Blake con- tinued to refer to in stentorian tones as “ Ada Kong, ” were all accommodated on candle boxes set on end, as being more comfortable than the planks set up on trestles, which were provided for the remainder of the banqueters, numbering about sixty. ¶ The banqueters addressed themselves to Bill Blake´s extensive cold collation with zeal untempered by discretion. Turkeys, fowls and cold ham vanished like new-fallen show. There was a case of champagne for the notables, and plenty of beer and Australian wine for the rank and file, and when Mr McPher- son rose to propose the customary loyal toast the audience responded tumultu- ously. ¶ The front of the marquee was open, and the general public, including several ladies, most of the construction gang, and all the small boys who could manage to be present, crowded in to hear the speeches, ¶ Few pens, and certainly not that of the “ Bottlebrush Banner ” reporter, who had done his best to assuage a mighty thirst, could do justice to Bill Blake´s oratory when he rose, to propose the toast of His Excellency the Gover- nor. The few disjointed remarks that appeared in the “ Banner ” next day as Bill Blake´s speech were a mere travesty, of that remarkable deliverance, and, as the general public crowded round the open front of the marquee to each, the pearls of wisdom as they fell from Mr. Blake´s lips, Alice Hardy, who kept a tight hold of little Benny´s hand, was pushed by the surging throng right in- side the tent. ¶ By a great piece of luck the banqueter who occupied the end seat at the long table near the spot where Mrs. Hardy made her involuntary entrance happen- ed to be Tom Broughton, whose natural modesty had prompted him to take the lowest place. Broughton shoved up against his neighbor, who was none other than mad Mick Mahony, and made room on the bench beside him for Alice, who was overjoyed to find a re- fuge, while little Benny was quite happy standing beside her. ¶ “ An` I`m sure we all `opes, ” perorated Bill Blake, “ that when His Excellency here goes back to England an` has a bit er lunch with the King, he`ll get as ten- der a bit er turkey an` as good a glarss er wine at Windsor Castle, as wot he `as got `ere to-day at Ryan´s Leap. ” ¶ Loud and prolonged cheering, under cover of which Tom Broughton remarked to Alice that Bill Blake ought to have been a preacher or an auctioneer, and Alice acknowledged the remark with one of her brightest smiles. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER XI. — A BUSH BANQUET. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ Wilga was just filling up His Excel- lency´s glass when she happened to look down the long table, past the line of rubicund, perspiring shire councillors and leading residents of the district, to the end where Tom Broughton had pegged out his claim. She was petrified to see him sitting next to a lady, and that lady Alice Hardy. She was stag- gered to see him actually mating a re- mark of some kind to his too-fascinating neighbor and thunderstruck to intercept the bright and happy smile with-which Alice acknowledged the remark, what- ever it was. Petrified, staggered, and thunderstruck, poor Wilga fell an easy victim to the green-eyed monster. All her gay chatter and merry smiles van- ished, so that Captain the Honorable Reginald Sidney, etc., who had been quietly noting the charm of this dainty bush flower, and who had no clue to the sudden change from gaiety to gloom, could only mutter as he dissected out a dead fly from his blanc mange, “ D——d odd, eh, what ! ” ¶ When His Excellency rose to reply the general public, including several stray dogs surged into the tent and stood there blocking up every available avenue of entrance or exit. Wilga was securely anchored behind the great man´s chair. Even if the whole place caught fire she could not have moved a yard. She was compelled to stand there, silent and im- movable, watching Tom Broughton, who had grown positively lively under the influence of his pretty neighbor´s bright eyes, and Alice Hardy, who was unaffectedly enjoying the admiration of her hitherto most taciturn companion. They were blissfully unconscious of the pale face and glaring eyes of the girl who stood behind the Governor´s chair, though Captan° the Honorable Reginald Sidney Vavasour Bohun de Melton Mow- bray remarked Wilga´s emotion with the utmost perplexity, and began to think of beautiful Russian girls with revolvers in their boots and bombs in their cor- sages. ¶ It was across this atmosphere, charged with contending emotions and the manifold odors of turkey, ham, and cold apple pie, that His Excellency the Governor launched his reply to the toast of his health. “ He was deeply indebted — haw — to their worthy fwiend, Mistah William Blake, for the extweme- ly kind mannaw in which he had pwo- posed the toast. ” ¶ At this stage the “ Banner ” reporter looked up with a gleam of sheer despair in his vinous eye, and nudged Captain the Honorable Reginald in the ribs. “ I say young feller, ” observed the vinous one in an audible aside, “ Wot about the education test ? Is he usin` Black Span- ish or wot ? No can savvy. ” ¶ Captain the Honorable regarded life neighbor with the troubled expression of a man who investigates the source of a bad smell, but answered never a word. The dialect of the “ Banner ” man was as strange to him as the Governor´s lan- guage to the man from Bottlebrush. ¶ Tom Broughton overheard the inter- ruption, and drew Alice´s attention to it with a gratified chuckle that was inter- cepted but wrongly interpreted by the wrathful Wilga. “ Old Peter Case is pokin` borak at the Ada Kong, ” he re- marked, “ an` Ada don`t understand wot `e`s tryin` to say. ” ¶ Broughton proceeded to pour out a glass of Australian hock for Alice, and Wilga, penned up at the other end of the marquee, could only glare in angry surprise at her young man obviously toasting the bright eyes of Alice Hardy. ¶ “ I wemembah, ” pursued His Excel- lency in the interminable phrases that maddened poor Wilga, who was wait- ing with feverish expectancy for the end of this distressing scene. “ I wemembah visiting Austwaliah when I was a boy, in the pewiod when the pyinciple pwo- duct was the — haw — bushwanjah, and when the chief means of communication was the — haw — bullock dway. When I now — haw — look awound me and see that by the gweat engineering skill at the dispocal of the — um Wailway Depart- ments and the pluck and — haw — detaw- mination of the bwave men employed by Messaws Bunk and Stiffem, the — aw — two-mile-an-owah bullock dway has been supahseded by the dundwed and fifty mile a nowah monowail, and that the — haw — bushwanjah is now — um — a bushwanjah in name only, I — haw— ( dash it, Mowbway, I`ve lot° my notes ) — I — haw — am delighted to be heah to-day and to — haw — pwonounce the — haw — bwidge open for — haw — twaffic. ” ¶ His Excellency sat down amid thun- ders of applause, and Peter Case remark- ed confidentially in Captain the Honor- able Reginald´s ear that Pitman´s sys- tem was unequal to the task of record- ing “ the old bloke´s peculiar style of chinning. ” ¶ The toast of “ The Ministry and Par- liament of New South Wales, ” was en- trusted to Silas Weldon, who confined his remarks mainly to a feeling exposi- tion of the principles of the Horse Pest Act, and wound up by a statesmanlike suggestion that the bounty on horse scalps should be increased from five Shil- lings to one pound apiece. This provok- ed a loud cackle from Tom Broughton, with the result that all eyes were at once turned in his direction, and several leading residents nudged each other in the ribs and remarked that Alice Hardy was a mighty fine woman, and that the bachelors had all the luck. All of which was of course perfectly patent to Wilga Blake, who stood wedged up at the far end of the tent among her corps d`elite of energetic young volunteer waitresses. Those fortunate girls had an agreeable opportunity of watching Captain the Honorable Reginald, etc., and of form- ing their respective personal estimates of his pink and golden style of beauty. But Wilga Blake had no such pleasant distraction. She saw nothing but Tom Broughton smiling at Alice Hardy, who sat next to him. She heard nothing but his wholly imaginary whispers of regard and admiration. The mere freak of cir- cumstance which had placed Tom Broughton and Alice Hardy in contigu- ity, appeared to Wilga to be the result of malignant design on the part of her affianced husband. ¶ Who could suppose that this small germ of foolish jealousy was destined to sprout until it produced a monstrous growth of tragedy ? ¶ At last the long speeches came to an end, and the marquee was emptied. As the dust of the disappearing motors rose from the main road leading to Bottle- brush. Mr. McPherson, M.L.A., and Mr. Bill Blake grasped each other´s hands warmly in front of the marquee. ¶ “ Man, it was a gran` spread ! ” said Mr McPherson with enthusiasm. “ I hae made mysel` safe in the constituency noo. ” ¶ Bill Blake, too, was well satisfied with his share of the days operations. He had disposed of more beer, not only per- sonally but also as a well-remunerated vendor than he had ever done before in one day, and his profit on the banquet was considerable. The day had been a magnificent success for him. ¶ But for his daughter Wilga it had been anything but a success. When she at length managed to extricate herself from the close-packed crowd that pour- ed slowly out of the big marquee, Tom Broughton was nowhere to be seen. Wilga Blake went home with her father in a state of misery and poignant an- guish. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER XI. — ( Continued. ) ¶ A BUSH BANQUET. ¶ It was across this atmosphere, charged with contending emotions and the manifold odours of turkey, ham, and cold apple pie, that His Excellency, the Governor launched his reply to the toast of his health. “ He was deeply indebted — haw — to their worthy fwiend, Mistah William Blake, for the extwemely kind man- naw in which he had pwoposed the toast. ” ¶ At this stage the “ Banner ” re- porter looked up with a gleam of sheer despair in his vinous eye, and nudged Captain the Honourable Re- ginald in the ribs. “ I say young feller, ” observed the vinous one in an audible aside, “ Wot about the education test ? Is he usin` Black Spanish or wot ? No can savvy. ” ¶ Captain the Honourable regarded his neighbour with the troubled ex- pression of a man who investigates the source of a bad smell, but an- swered never a word. The dialect of the “ Banner ” man was as strange to him as the Governor´s language to the man from Bottlebrush. ¶ Tom Brighton overheard the in- terruption, and drew Alice´s atten- tion to it with a gratified chuckle that was intercepted but wrongly interpreted by the wrathful Wilga. “ Old Peter Case is pokin` borak at the Ada Kong, ” he remarked, “ an` Ada don`t understand wot `e`s try- in` to say. ” ¶ Broughton proceeded to pour out a glass of Australian hock for Alice, and Wilga, penned up at the other end of the marquee, could only glare in angry surprise at her young man obviously toasting the bright eyes of Alice Hardy. ¶ “ I wemembah, ” pursued His Ex- cellency in the interminable phrases that maddened poor Wilga, who was waiting with feverish expect- ance, for the end of this distressing scene, “ I wemembah visiting Aus- twaliah when I was a boy, in the pewiod when the pwinciple pwoduct was the — haw — bushwanjah, and when the chief means of communica- tion was the — haw — bullock dway. When I now — haw — look awound me and see that by the gweat en- gineering skill at the disposal of the — um — Wailway Department and the pluck and — haw — detawmination of the bwave men employed by Messrs. Bunk and Stiffem, the — aw — two- mile-an-owah bullock dway has been supahseded by the hundwed and fifty mile a howah monowail, and that the — haw — bushwanjah is now — um — a bushwanjah in name only. I — haw — ( dash it, Mowbray, I`ve lost my notes ) — I — haw — am delighted to be heah to-day and to — haw — pwo- nounce the — haw — bwidge open for — haw — traffic. ” ¶ His Excellency sat down amid thunders of applause, and Peter Case remarked confidentially in Captain the Honourable Reginald´s ear that Pitman´s system was un- equal to the task of recording “ the old bloke´s peculiar style of chinn- ing. ” ¶ The toast of “ The Ministry and Parliament of New South Wales ” was entrusted to Silas Weldon, who confined his remarks mainly to a feeling exposition of the Principles of the Horse Pest Act, and wound up by a statesmanlike suggestion that the bounty on horse-scalps should be increased from five shill- ings to one pound apiece. This provoked a loud cackle from Tom Broughton, with the result that all eyes were at once turned in his direction, and several leading re- sidents nudged each other in the ribs and remarked that Alice Hardy was a mighty fine woman, and that the bachelors had all the luck. All of which was of course perfectly patent to Wilga Blake, who stood wedged up at the far end of the tent among her corps d`elite of en- ergetic young volunteer waitresses. Those fortunate girls had an agree- able opportunity of watching Cap- tain the Honourable Reginald etc., and of forming their respective per- sonal estimates at his pink and golden style of beauty. But Wilga Blake had no such pleasant distrac- tion. She saw nothing but Tom Broughton smiling at Alice Hardy, who sat next to him. She heard nothing but his wholly imaginary whispers of regard and admiration. The mere freak of circumstance which had placed Tom Broughton and Alice Hardy in continuity, ap- peared to Wilga to be the result of malignant design on the part of her affianced husband. ¶ Who could suppose that this small germ of foolish jealousy was destin- ed to sprout until it produced a monstrous growth of tragedy ? ¶ At long last the speeches came to an end, and the marquee was emp- tied. As the dust of the disappear- ing motors rose from the main road leading to Bottlebrush, Mr. McPherson, M.L.A., and Mr. Bill Blake grasped each other´s hands warmly in front of the marquee. ¶ “ Man, it was a gran` spread ! ” said Mr. McPherson with enthus- iasm. “ I hae made mysel` safe in the constituency noo. ” ¶ Bill Blake, too, was well satisfied with his share of the day´s opera- tions. He had disposed of more beer, not only personally but also as a well-remunerated vendor, than he had ever done before in one day, and his profit on the banquet was considerable. The day had been a magnificent success for him. ¶ But for his daughter Wilga it had been anything but a success. When she at length managed to extricate herself from the close-packed crowd that poured slowly out of the big marquee, Tom Broughton was no- where to he seen. Wilga Blake went home with her father in a state of misery and poignant anguish. ¶ CHAPTER XII. ¶ TWISTING THE SKEIN. ¶ My own darling Tom, ¶ Oh, how could you treat me so af- ter all that has passed between us ? I never thought, while you were kissing me that day when I went over to your place in the runabout, that you would so soon forget me. But I can see now that you have been keeping away from me on pur- pose, and, of course, I know why. Oh, how I hate to see you even talking to that woman, Tom, dear. Of course I know Mrs. Hardy is much prettier and cleverer than I am. That`s what makes me so mad when I see you with her. She has always hated me. I suppose her in- stinct has told her that I love you with all my heart and soul and that I will never give you up to any other woman. Tom, dear, do come to me. I am longing for you and am sick to death of my wre- tched life at the hotel. I want you to take me away with you and to love me as you did that day when I first went in the runabout to see you, and nobody at home knew a thing about it. Oh, my darling Tom, if you knew how I longed for the sight of you, surely you would come at once to your ¶ Almost heart-broken ¶ Wilga. ¶ That was the letter that Wilga Blake wrote to Tom Broughton by the light of a solitary candle as she sat in her narrow little bed- room on the night following the great function at Ryan´s Leap. The letter was smudged and tear-stained, for the girl was convulsed with sobs of mingled love and jealousy as she wrote it. ¶ Sitting there in her plain, little, white flannel wrapper, with a nar- row bit of lace at the throat, she thought with rage as well as an- guish over all the events of the un- happy day. Tom Broughton had un- deniably neglected her and had made such open and frantic love to Mrs. Hardy that even the farmers at the banquet could not help noticing it. Wilga bit her lips as she recalled the bluff asides in the marquee. ¶ Her little bedroom was immediate- ly over the bar, and, as Bill Blake was engaged in the agreeable task of “ keeping it up, ” the shouts of the roysterers reached the girl´s ears quite plainly. What brutes men were. She blew out the candle, got into bed, and cried herself to sleep. ¶ Next morning her eyes fell on the open letter as soon as she awoke, and a difficulty suggested itself at the outset. If she posted it in the ordinary way Mrs. Hardy, who knew her handwriting perfectly well, would see it. To Wilga´s mind, warped by passion and bitter pre- judice, it seemed not improbable that Mrs. Hardy would open and read her letter. Possibly the post- mistress would even go so far as to destroy it. Wilga quickly con- vinced herself that Mrs. Hardy made it a regular practice to tam- per with the correspondence com- mitted to her charge. She had heard that it was quite easy to open a letter by holding the gummed edge of the envelope over the spout of a boiling kettle, in such a way that it could be closed up again with out anybody being a penny the wiser. Plainly it would be unwise to commit to the postmistress this appeal to the love and honour of the man who had been dallying with the postmistress in the faces of the public of Waratah Valley. ¶ Wilga engaged in some deep think- ing and presently she struck the solution of the problem. The letter must be sent by hand, and, obvious- ly, the best person to take if was her trusted helper, Mr. Hardy him- self. True, she hadn`t seen much of Mr. Hardy lately, but that was be- cause she did not want him. Once her engagement with Tom Brough- ton was settled the need for Mr. Hardy´s services passed away. But, as Broughton had begun to play up, it was necessary to call him to ac- count, and Wilga realised with a stern sense of the appropriateness of the arrangement, that, as Tom Hardy´s wife was the cause of all her trouble, it was quite right that Tom Hardy should be the bearer of the letter. ¶ ( To be continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER XI. — ( Continued. ) ¶ A BUSH BANQUET. ¶ The marquee was erected close to the bridge, and a large and repre- sentative gathering of residents, ac- cording to the fluent phraseology of the reporter of the “ Bottlebrush Banner, ” attended to welcome His Excellency the Governor and suite, the honourable, the Premier, Mr. Blurt, and the Chief Commissioner of Railways, Mr. Trackson, who ar- rived in large, high-powered motor cars, attended by their respective satellites. Prominent in the gather- ing were Messrs. Plunk and Biffen of the eminent firm of Plunk, Biffen and Son, contractors. They were gorgeously arrayed in frock coats of the Victorian era, and preternatural- ly shiny bell-toppers, and when they were presented to His Excellency the Governor by Mr. McPherson, they accented his corteous° con- gratulations upon the completion of the magnificent bridge with becoming dignity, and carefully stood in front of Mr. Pascoe for fear he might think that any of the Governor´s kindly hawhaws were intended for him. ¶ His Excellency was a recent arri- val from England, tall, beaky, and rather difficult to understand. When he expressed the opinion to Mr. Plunk that it was “ a very naice little bwidge, ” Mr. Plunk, who was a little puzzled, courteously correc- ted him. “ No, your Excellency, ” he said, “ it is of the parabolic three- hinged type ; a very useful type where you have a deep gorge and a geological formation such as we find here. ” ¶ Mr. McPherson and Bill Blake then escorted the Governor halfway across the bridge, and allowed him to understand that they personally were entitled to most of the credit of constructing it. Bill Blake point- ed out the abutments on the far side and explained Tom Hardy´s narrow escape from death while mak- ing the first connection with the cliff-face. He showed his Excellency exactly how the grapnel, with a line attached had been made fast, and how, when Tom had made the connection, the riggers were able to hook up the line of the grapnel and so make fast other lines to hold the cradle while the face of the rock was prepared for the plates of the abutments. ¶ “ In-deed ! ” observed his Excellency. “ Most intewesting, weally ! ” ¶ There was a slight unpleasantness owing to the Premier and the Chief Commissioner of Railways having to walk behind with the resplendent Ada Kong because there was barely room for three abreast on the brid- ge, and neither McPherson nor Bill Blake would let anybody else walk next to the Governor. However, the little cloud passed over with some mutterings from Mr. Blurt and a few fervid expletives from Mr. Trackson. ¶ His Excellency, having been in- structed by Mr. McPherson, then pulled a stout cord connected with a temporary flag pole set up on the bridge, and thereby caused the Australian flag to flutter out over the gorge, amid a salvo of cheers from all the spectators on the hill side. When the cheers subsided his Excellency performed his important duty in a high, clear voice, which was perfectly audible though the words were quite unintelligible to the eager listners°. The reporter of the “ Bottlebrush Banner, ” who had heard several vice-regal speeches in his time, made the best guess at the actual words employed by his Excellency. He confided to Tom Hardy that the graceful and polish- ed formula pronounced by the Gov- ernor ran like this “ I have now the pleashaw and the honah to de- clah this monowail extension open, and to congwatulate the — haw — Chief Commissioner of Wailways and the — haw — contractors upon the com- pletion of this twuly magnificent — haw — bwidge. ” ¶ As soon as the ceremony was over there was a wild rush to the mar- quee. Bill Blake and McPherson, grasping each an arm of the Gover- nor, piloted him through the excit- ed crowd and dumped him down on a cane chair on the chairman´s right, Mr McPherson, by virtue of his position as the local member, assuming the onerous duties of chairman. Mr. Blurt, Mr. Trackson, and Captain the Honourable Regin- ald Sidney Vavasour Bohun de Mel- ton Mowbray, of His Majesty´s Roy- al Horse Guards ( Blue ), whom Bill Blake continued to refer to in sten- torian tones as “ Ada Kong, ” were all accommodated on candle boxes set on end, as being more comfort- able than the planks set up on tres- tles, which were provided for the re- mainder of the banqueters, number- ing about sixty. ¶ The banqueters addressed themsel- ves to Bill Blake´s extensive cold collation with zeal untempered by discretion. Turkeys, fowls, and cold ham vanished like new-fallen snow. There was a case of champagne for the notables, and plenty of beer and Australian wine for the rank and file, and when Mr. McPherson rose to propose the customary loyal toast the sudience° responded tumultuous- ly. ¶ The front of the marquee was open, and the general public, including several ladies, most of the construc- tion gang and all the small boys who could manage to be present, crowd- ed in to hear the speeches. ¶ Few pens, and certainly not that of the “ Bottlebrush Banner ” repor- ter, who had done his best to as- suage a mighty thirst, could do justice to Bill Blake´s oratory when he rose to propose the toast of His Excellency the Governor. The few disjointed remarks that appear- ed in the “ Banner ” next day as Bill Blake´s speech were a mere travesty of that remarkable deliverance, and as the general public crowded round the open front of the marquee to catch the pearls of wisdom as they fell from Mr. Blake´s lips, Alice Hardy, who kept a tight hold of little Benny´s hand, was pushed by the surging throng right inside the tent. ¶ By a great piece of luck the ban- queter who occupied the end seat at the long table near the spot where Mrs Hardy made her involuntary entrance happened to be Tom Brou- ghton, whose natural modesty had prompted him to take the lowest place. Broughton shoved up against his neighbour, who was none other than mad Mick Mahony, and made room on the bench beside him for Alice, who was overjoyed to find a refuge, while little Benny was quite happy standing beside her. ¶ “ An` I`m sure we all `opes, ” per- orated Bill Blake, “ that when His Excellency here goes back to Eng- land an` has a bit er lunch with the King, he`ll get as tender a bit er turkey an` as good a glarss er wine at Windsor Castle as wot `he `as got `ere to-day at Ryan´s Leap. ” ¶ Loud and prolonged cheering, un- der cover of which Tom Broughton remarked to Alice that Bill Blake ought to have been a preacher or an auctioneer, and Alice acknow- ledged the remark with one of her brightest smiles. ¶ Wilga was just filling up His Ex- cellency´s glass when she happened to look down the long table, past the line of rubicund, perspiring shire councillors and leading residents of the district, to the end where Tom Broughton had pegged out his claim. She was petrified to see him sitting next to a lady, and the lady Alice Hardy. She was staggered to see him actually making a remark of some kind to his too-fascinating neighbour, and thunderstruck to in- tercept the bright and happy smile with which Alice acknowledged the remark, whatever it was. Petrified, staggered, and thunderstruck, poor Wilga fell an easy victim to the green-eyed monster. All her gay chatter and merry smiles vanished, so that Captain the Honourable Re- ginald Sidney etc., who had been quietly noting the charm of this dainty bush flower, and who had no clue to the sudden change from gaiety to gloom, could only matter as he dissected out a dead fly from his blanc mange, “ D——d odd, eh, what ! ” ¶ When His Excellency the Governor rose to reply the general public, in- eluding several stray dogs, surged into the tent and stood there block- ing up every available avenue of entrance or exit. Wilga was securely anchored behind the great man´s chair. Even if the whole place had caught fire she could not have moved a yard. She was compelled to stand there, silent and immovable, watch- ing Tom Broughton, who had grown positively lively under the influence of his pretty neighbour´s bright eyes and Alice Hardy, who was un- affectedly enjoying the admiration of her hitherto most taciturn companion. They were blissfully un- conscious of the pale face and glar- ing eyes of the girl who stood be- hind the Governor´s chair, though Captain the Honourable Reginald Sydney Vavasour Bohun de Melton Mowbray remarked Wilga´s emotion with the utmost perplexity, and be- gan to think of beautiful Russian girls with revolvers in their boots and bombs in their corsages. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER XI. — A BUSH BANQUET. ¶ All that winter was a quiet and happy time for Waratah Valley. For Alice Hardy it was a time of gentle content- ment. She basked in the steady glow of Hardy´s love, for all the old misunder- standings had been dissipated and their lovers´ quarrels had indeed proved to be love´s renewing. Little Benny, too, was growing in wisdom and stature. His father was making him a little single- seated electric runabout to take him backwards and forwards between Wara- tah Valley and Acacia Ridge, where the nearest school was located, and though the little chap´s great ambition was to possess an aeroplane of his own, like Mr. Cassidy´s, he agreed to be satis- fied with the runabout “ until he was ten. ” ¶ Tom Hardy spent all his spare time, when he was not working at the birth- right section, upon the little electric one-seated car for Benny, and his com- panionship with Wilga Blake practically ceased, much to Alice´s satisfaction. ¶ Meanwhile Mr. Pascoe and the con- struction gang had been working stead- ily at the new bridge across Ryan´s leap. The tunnel also had been completed, and the track from Bottlebrush laid right up to the gorge, and thence, on the far side, to Waratah Valley. The coming of spring, which coincided with Tom Broughton´s proposal to Wilga, also saw the completion of the bridge, in the com- mencement of which both the husband and the would-be lover of Alice Hardy had played such important parts. ¶ It was generally admitted throughout the township that the credit of originat- ing the idea of having a magnificent function to celebrate the opening of the monorail extension must be given to Bill Blake. ¶ “ It come to me quite suddent-like, ” the hotel-keeper explained to his crony, Silas Weldon, over a morning deep- sinker on the verandah. “ I was just dozin` off to sleep when I begun to think of that great stampede and —— ” ¶ “ Blast the great stampede, ” inter- rupted Mr. Weldon furiously ; “ you`re never done throwin` it up ter me. Ef it hadn`t been for that cursed little-soap peddler, I`d have had —— ” ¶ “ Well, well, don`t say no more about it, ” interjected Bill Blake hurriedly, forseeing another distorted account of the memorable episode ; “ I`m sure I don`t, want to `urt no man´s feelin`s. I was jest sayin` that the rec-lection of Ryan´s Leap an` all the wild `orses fal- lin` over the edge —— ” ¶ “ Yah ! There you go again. Drop it, can`t you ? Drop it ! ” ¶ “ I was jest goin` ter say, ” pursued Bill Blake vehemently, “ that I`m blowed if I know wot I was goin` ter say now, `cos you`ve druv it fair but of my block with yer bad temper ; but anyhow, I got the idea when I was lyin` in bed the other night, an` I says to myself, ‘ Why not have an opening ceremony ? ’ I says, ‘ and I`ll supply the beer. ’ Good enough, too. You`ll remember I told you about it in the mornin`, Silas, before than man Pas- coe so much as gave a hint. ” ¶ “ You did, ” said Silas, more calmly. “ You cert`nly said that you would sup- ply the beer. Reckon you orter sell enough on that one occasion to give Wilga a pretty fair cheque on `er wed- din` day. ” ¶ “ Weddin` day be jiggered, ” ejaculated Bill, angrily. “ To think of me own flesh and blood goin` away from me like that to cook another´s man´s dinners almost put me off beer. Wot`cher want ter keep on remindin` me of Wilga´s wed- din` for when you know it means that I`ll have to pay wages to a house- keeper ? ” ¶ “ Well, wot`cher want ter keep on re- mindin` me of the great stampede for when you know it means that I have ter go stalkin` fer days at a time now be- fore I can get anywheres near the few mis`able brumbies wot is left ? ” ¶ “ You can be as aggravatin` as you like, Silas, ” put in Bill, with dignity ; “ but you can`t deny, at any rate, that it was I who proposed to our member to take the matter up. And, my colonial, how did he rise to it ? I never knew Andy M`Pherson threatened with so much intelligence before. Come to think of it, `twas I who gave him the two best jobs he`s ever `ad in the `Ouse — bringin` in the Horse Pest Bill an` buttonholin` the Primeer to get the Go- vernor to come down here and declare the monorail open to Waratah Valley. You`ll see Andy in `is glory when the day comes, I`ll promise ye. ” ¶ “ I`m agoin` ter plug my ear-holes afore I goes ter the bridge, ” remarked Silas aggressively. “ I knows wot Andy is like at the best of times, an` I ain`t agoin` ter resk him after the ban- quet. ” ¶ “ You needn`t worry about `im, ” said Bill reassuringly, “ wot you gotter think about is to be on hand when I`m ready to interdooce ye to the Governor. We`ve got it all fixed fer him to come, an` he`s a-goin` ter bring his Ada Kong along, too. ” ¶ “ I `ope she won`t mind settin` on a candle box, ” observed Mr. Weldon grim- ly, “ cos there`s never enough chairs in them markees. ” ¶ “ `Tain`t a faymale, ” spluttered Bill Blake from the heights of his superior knowledge, “ it`s the young sprig in gilt embroidery an` tight pants, wot `as to keep `is nibs from goin` ter sleep afore his speech comes on, an` `as to parse `im the gold cigarette case with the di`mond monnygram to it when `e feels `e wants a smoke. ” ¶ Bill prided himself on his knowledge of Vice-regal etiquette. He had once seen a former State Governor pass through Waratah Valley in a motor car and a cloud of dust. ¶ An incredulous grunt from Silas was the only response, but the old man made up his mind to be on top when the Go- vernor put in an appearance, and to see what his Ada Kong was like for him- self. ¶ As the eventful day approached there were numerous conferences between Bill Blake and Andy McPherson, the member for the district. Mr. McPherson was a thick-set, little man, with a shaved upper lip, heavy grizzled whiskers, and a remarkable gift of fluency. He prided himself on his local knowledge, and never lost an opportunity of “ making himself safe in the constituency. ” This monorail business might get him into the Government yet. He began to have visions of a knighthood. “ Sir Andrew and Lady McPherson ” — ah, that would compensate for much when the Ada Kong announced the visitors´ names at the garden party in race week. ¶ A reception committee was formed, with Mr. McPherson as chairman, and leading local residents as members. Bill Blake, Tom Hardy, and Tom Broughton did most of the work, and there was a fair sprinkling of farmers from the sur- rounding district who listened attentive- ly to suggestions and consumed vast quantities of beer in Bill Blake´s best parlor, where the meetings were held. After much deliberation it was decided to hire a large marquee from Bottle- brush, and to entrust the catering for the banquet to the shirt-sleeved indi- vidual whom Mr. McPherson designated with a patronising wave of the hand as “ our worthy host, Mr. William Blake. ” Wilga engaged a corps d`elite of the most energetic young women in the township to assist in the preparations, and, on the morning of the longed-for day, Mr. Blake, in a new, ready-made tweed suit, specially imported from Syd- ney and brought to Waratah Valley per parcel post by Bert Milligan in Black Swan, was able to announce with pride that “ there wasn`t a turkey within five miles that had its head on. ” ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER XI. ¶ A BUSH BANQUET. ¶ All that times° was a quiet and happy time for Waratah Valley. For Alice Hardy, it was a time of gentle contentment. She basked in the steady glow of Hardy´s love, for all the old misunderstand- ings had been dissipated, and their lovers´ quarrels had indeed proved to be love´s renewing. Little Benny too, was growing in wisdom and stature. His father was making him a little single-seated electric run- about to take him backwards and forwards between Waratah Valley and Acacia Ridge, where the nearest school was located, and, though the little chap´s great ambition was to possess an aeroplane of his own, like Mr. Cassidy´s, he agreed to be sat- isfied with the runabout “ until he was ten. ” ¶ Tom Hardy, spent all his spare time, when he was not working at the birthright section, upon the lit- tle electric one-seated car for Benny, and his companionship with Wilga Blake practically ceased, much to Alice´s satisfaction. ¶ Meanwhile Mr. Pascoe and the con- struction gang had been working stea- dily at the new bridge across Ryan´s Leap. The tunnel also had been completed, and the track from Bottlebrush laid right up to the gorge, and thence, on the far side, to Waratah Valley. The coming of spring, which coincided with Tom Broughton´s proposal to Wilga, also saw the completion of the bridge, in the commencement of which both the husband and the would-be lover of Alice Hardy had played such im- portant parts. ¶ It was generally admitted through- out the township that the credit for originating the idea of having a mag- nificent function to celebrate the opening of the monorail extension must be given to Bill Blake. ¶ “ It come to me quite suddent- like, ” the hotel keeper explained his crony, Silas Weldon, over a morning, deep-sinker on the verandah. “ I was just dozin` off to sleep when I begun to think of that great stam- pede and —— ” ¶ “ Blast the great stampede, ” inter- rupted Mr. Weldon furiously, “ you`re never done throwin` it up ter me. Ef it hadn`t been for that cursed little soap peddler I`d have had —— ” ¶ “ Well, well, don`t say no more ab- out it, ” interjected Bill Blake hur- riedly, foreseeing another distorted account of the memorable episode, “ I`m sure I don`t, want to `urt no man´s feelin`s. I was jest sayin` that the rec`lection of Ryan´s Leap an` all the wild `orses fallin` over the edge —— ” ¶ “ Yah ! There you go again. Drop it, can`t you ? Drop it ! ” ¶ “ I was jest goin` ter say, ” pur- sued Bill Blake vohemently°, “ that I`m blowed if I know wot I was go- in` to say now, `cos you`ve druv it fair out of my block with yer bad temper ; but, anyhow, I got the idea when I was lyin` in bed the other night, an` I says to myself, ‘ Why not have an opening ceremony ? ’ I says, ‘ and I`ll supply the beer. ’ Good enough, too. You`ll remember I told you about it in the mornin`, Silas, before that man Pascoe so much as gave a hint. ” ¶ “ You did, ” said Silas, more calm- ly. “ You cert`nly said that you would supply the beer. Reckon° you orter sell enough on that one occas- sion to give Wilga a pretty fair cheque on `er weddin` day. ” ¶ “ Weddin` day, be jiggered, ” ejacu- lated Bill angrily. “ To think of me own flesh and blood goin` away from me like that to cook another man´s dinners almost puts me off me beer. Wot`cher want ter keep on remindin` me of Wilga´s weddin` for, when you know it means that I have ter go stalkin` fer days at a time now be- fore I can get anywheres near the few mis`ble brumbies wot is left ? ” ¶ “ You can be as aggravatin` as you like, Silas, ” put in Bill with dig- nity “ but you can`t deny', at any rate, that it was I who proposed to our member to take the matter up. And, my colonial ! how did he rise to it ? I never knew Andy McPherson threatened with so much intelligence before. Come to think of it, `twas I who gave him the two best jobs he`s ever ad in the `Ouse — bringin` in the Horse Pest Bill an` cuttonholin`° the° Primeer to get the Governor to come down here and declare the monorail open to Waratah Valley. You`ll see Andy in `is glory when the day comes. I`ll promise ye. ” ¶ “ I`m agoin` ter plug my ear-holes afore I goes ter the bridge, ” re- marked Silas aggressively. “ knows wot Andy is like at the best of times, an` I ain`t agoin` ter resk him after the banquet. ” ¶ “ You needn`t worry about `im, ” said Bill reassuringly, “ wot you got- ter think about is to be on hand when I`m ready to interdooce ye to the Governor. We`ve got it all fix- ed fer him to come, an` he`s agoin` ter bring his Ada Kong along too. ¶ “ I `ope she won`t mind settin` on a candle box,” observed Mr. Weldon grimly, “ cos there`s never enough chairs in them markees. ” ¶ “ `Tain`t a faymale, ” spluttered Bill Blake from the heights of his superior knowledge, “ it`s the young sprig in gilt embroidery an` tight pants, wot `as to keep `is nibs from goin` ter sleep alore° his speech com- es on, an` `as to parse `im the gold cigarette case with the di`mond mon- nygram to it when `e feels `e wants a smoke. ” ¶ Bill prided himself on his know- ledge of Vice-regal etiquette. He had once seen a former State Governor pass through Waratah Valley in a motor car and a cloud of dust. ¶ An incredulous grunt from Silas was the only response, but the old man made up his mind to be on top when the Governor put in an appearance and to see what his Ada Kong was like for himself. ¶ As the eventful day approached there were numerous conferences be- tween Bill Blake and Andy McPher- son, the member for the district. Mr. McPherson was a thick-set, little man, with a shaved upper lip, heavy grizzled whiskers, and a remarkable gift of fluency. He prided himself on his local knowledge, and never lost an opportunity of “ making himself safe in the constituency. ” This mo- norail business might get him into the Government yet. He began to have visions of a knighthood. “ Sir Andrew and Lady McPherson ” — ah that would compensate for much when the Ada Kong announced the visitors´ names at the garden party in race week. ¶ A reception committee was formed, with Mr. McPherson as chairman, and leading local residents as mem- bers. Bill Blake, Tom Hardy, and Tom Broughton did most of the work, and there was a fair sprinkl- ing of farmers from the surround- ing district who listened attentive- ly to suggestions and consumed vast quantities of beer in Bill Blake´s best parlour, where the meetings were held. After much deliberation it was decided to hire a large mar- quee from Bottlebrush, and to en- trust the catering for a the banquet to the shirt-sleeved individual whom Mr. McPherson designated with a patronising wave of the hand as our worthy host, Mr. William Blake. ” Wilga engaged a corps d`elite of the most energetic young woman° in the township to assist in the prepara- tions, and, on the morning of the longed-for day, Mr. Blake, in a new, ready-made tweed suit, specially im- ported from Sydney and brought to Waratah Valley, per parcel post by Bert Milligan in “ Black Swan, ” was able to announce with pride that “ there wasn`t a turkey within five miles that had its head on. ” ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER XII. — TWISTING THE SKEIN. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ Hardy took the letter enfolded in the plain, unaddressed envelope from Wilga, and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his coat. As he turned to go his wife appeared in the doorway of the store across the road and called to him. With a gesture of annoyance Hardy nodded good-bye to Wilga, and walked across to his own quarters, while Wilga tripped back into the Royal Hotel to get the breakfast ready. ¶ It was then that Joe Peterson cau- tiously emerged from behind his log and shuffled off in the direction of his soli- tary humpy rubbing his hands. ¶ There was a slight cloud no bigger than a man´s hand between Hardy and his wife at breakfast time, and even little Benny´s artless chatter could not altogether dissipate it. Alice was an- noyed to find her husband engaged in another of those mysterious conversa- tions across the paling fence with “ that Blake girl, ” and Tom was furious with himself for having given her cause for annoyance, and furious with Wilga for having dragged him into a position that seemed to afford a semblance of justifi- cation for his wife´s absurd suspicions. However, apart from a slight curtness and frostiness in their conversation, there was no indication of any trouble that could not be readily explained away. ¶ Hardy resolved to take the letter to Tom Broughton that afternoon, on his way out to the birthright section. In the meantime he would put it in the safe with the cash and cheques passed over the counter in the ordinary course of business, and awaiting transmission to the bank. What a nuisance Wilga was with her love affair. He heartily wished that he had never mixed himself up in it. He opened the door of the safe, placed the letter inside, locked the thick little steel door, and replaced the key in his waistcoat pocket. ¶ Whew ! It was unusually warm for the time of rear. Tom walked round the back of the store looking for little Benny to go with him to the workshop where the single-seated electric car was awaiting some final touches. No Benny visible. Hardy went back into the store, took off his coat and waistcoat and hung them up on the nail in the corner behind the ocunter°. As Benny came running in with glowing cheeks and curls flying. Tom swung him up in his arms and forgot all his petty sources of irritation. ¶ “ Come along with dad, Benny. You and I will soon get a move out of her. ” ¶ And together they went off to the workshop across the paddock. ¶ While the humming of the buzz-saw in the workshop informed all and sun- dry that Hardy and his small son were absorbed in their construction pro- gramme the long arm of coincidence reached out and gripped Jim Burn, and placed his large feet in the road leading from the bridge to the township. A subtle voice rising up out of the depths of Jim Burn´s lower self whispered in- sistently in his ear that it was time he had a drink, a big drink, a long-extend- ed drink, a drink such as would be a worthy sequel to the six months´ spell of temperance and hard work and re- sponsibility that he had just gone through. Mr. Pascoe had told him that lie could have a day off before clearing up the odds and ends of the great job. Jim had a ten-pound cheque in his pocket, and the contractors´ runabout was doing nothing. He would take Alf Kiggins with him for company. Kig- gins was the foreman´s chief understudy — a decent chap and one who always drank fair. Jim decided that the time was opportune for a business call on Bill Blake at the Royal Hotel. ¶ The question of ways and means was capable of an easy solution. Jim decid- ed to cash his cheque at the store, and then stroll across and see what was doing at the hotel. ¶ And so it came about that less than half an hour after the great thought had struck him like a splendid inspiration, Jim Burn, with Alf Kiggins seated be- side him, pulled up the contractors´ working-car in front of the store, and alighted to transact the essential pre- liminary of getting “ the stuff. ” ¶ Mrs. Hardy was behind the counter, and greeted her callers with a bright smile. The men from the construction camp had been good customers for many months. Cash a cheque ? Why, of course. How much was it for ? ¶ Jim extracted the carefully folded slip of paper from his trouser pocket and handed it across the counter. Ten pounds ! Oh, dear ; Mrs. Hardy was afraid she had not as much change in the store. “ But, wait a minute, Mr. Burn, and I`ll see what I can do for you, ” she added with a charming smile, and Jim gave Mr. Kiggins a sly dig in the ribs which intimated as plainly as possible that the sub-foreman should note the smiles which beauty accorded to his chief. ¶ Alice Hardy examined the till with misgivings. Three half-crowns and a battered threepenny bit ! The store had been closed all the previous day on ac- count of the opening ceremony at the bridge, and the takings that morning were scanty. ¶ “ I`m afraid I`ll have to run across to the workshop and ask Tom, ” she said, ruefully. “ I know he has plenty of cash in his private safe. ” ¶ Jim Burn began to apologise profuse- ly. He would not give her all that trouble on any account. Was it really necessary to fetch Tom from his work ? Couldn`t she open the safe herself ? ¶ And then it flashed across Alice that Tom always carried the key of the safe in his waistcoat pocket. There was his waistcoat hanging up on the nail under- neath his coat. ¶ She soon found the key. ¶ “ All right. I`ll be back in a minute, Mr. Burn, ” she said, and, with the key in her hand, she vanished into Tom´s little office, in the corner of which stood the safe on a solid shelf. ¶ Opening the safe she found a roll of notes lying on the top of some cheques and loose papers, and leaving the door open she went back to the shop, count- ed out ten notes, and handed them to Jim Burn, receiving his cheque in ex- change. Jim made his exit with many thanks, accompanied by the trusty Kig- gins, and the thirsty pair were half way to the bar of the Royal before Alice got back to Tom´s office to put in the cheque and the remainder of the notes and lock up the safe again. ¶ She was just closing the door when her eye fell on a plain envelope bearing no address, but obviously containing an enclosure. Probably it contained money, she reflected. As it was tolerably cer- tain that Jim Burn´s example would be copied during the day by any other of the contractors´ men who could get away from their work it would be just as well to see exactly how much money she had available for cashing the in- evitable cheques. ¶ For a fraction of a second she hesi- tated. Then she broke open the en- velope and extracted Wilga´s letter. ¶ Mrs. Hardy was quite familiar with “ the Blake girl´s ” handwriting, and she recognised it at a glance. “ My own darling Tom. ” A sudden flush of color surged over Alice Hardy´s face and neck and shoulders. Her whole body seemed to be on fire. Then the tidal wave re- ceded as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving her white, cold, and shivering. The written lines on the page in front of her were wavy and indistinct, and her heart was throbbing furiously. She passed her hand wearily before her eyes and sat down slowly in the chair at the office writing table. She felt as if she had been suddenly struck a violent blow. ¶ Through the window she could see her husband at work in the open shed with little Benny playing beside him. He was turning a piece of metal, and the hum- ming song of the lathe came to her clearly. ¶ She spread the sheet of note paper on the table in front of her, and gradually the wavy lines settled down into their places, and the words became legible. She read the letter slowly through from beginning to end, and each damning sentence printed itself in letters of fire across her brain. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER XII. — TWISTING THE SKEIN. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ “ My own darling Tom, — ¶ “ Oh, how could you treat me so after all that has passed between us. I never thought, while you were kissing me that day when I went over to your place in the runabout, that you would so soon forget me. But I can see now that you have been keeping away from me on purpose, and of course I know why. Oh, how I hate to see you even talking to that woman, Tom, dear. Of course I I know Mrs. Hardy is much prettier and cleverer than I am. That`s what makes me so mad when I see you with her. She has always hated me. I suppose her instinct has told her that I love you with all my heart and soul, and that I will never give you up to any other woman. Tom, dear, do come to me. I am longing for you, and am sick to death of my wretched life at the hotel. I want you to take me away with you, and to love me as you did that day when I first went in the runabout to see you, and nobody at home knew a thing about it. Oh, my darling Tom, if you knew how I longed for the sight of you, surely you would come at once to your ¶ Almost heart-broken ¶ WILGA. ” ¶ Who was this miserable girl who had robbed her of her husband´s love, and made her name a by-word in the little community in which she lived ? Wilga Blake, the drudge of her disgraceful old father, a common creature, a mere puller of beer for the louts and blackguards by whom she was surrounded. Mrs. Hardy bit her lips until the drops of blood ap- peared, as the full enormity of the out- rage was borne in upon her. ¶ And what words would describe the treachery of the man whom she had made her husband, and to whom she had given her heart ? No, she had never cared a jot for Milligan. She realised that fact now as never before. It was Tom Hardy who held her love — and he alone. Yet he had been lying to her all this time. He had laid his lips upon hers. He had held her hand in his. He had spoken words of love in her ears. But he had dared to come to her fresh from the caresses of that depraved crea- ture in the hotel — his mistress. Pah ! It would have been absolutely incredible but for the evidence of the written words in the girl´s own handwriting — the evi- dence of the letter which Tom Hardy had so carefully hidden away in his safe, never dreaming that it would be discov- ered by the woman that he had dishon- ored. So this was the meaning of those interminable conversations between her husband and the Blake girl. And now it appeared that he had tired of her, and the wretched creature reproached him openly with neglecting her and with turning his fickle attention back to his own wife. Good God ! it was mon- strous that such a man should be per- mitted to live ! ¶ Thus Alice Hardy, drove onward to- wards disaster, tossing like a mere dere- lict before the hurricane of emotions that swept over her. Gradually she be- came calmer. But for the concrete evi- dence that lay on the table before her she would have believed in the possi- bility of some ghastly mistake. And then the thought flashed through her brain, “ Perhaps there might be some explana- tion yet. ” She wiped her brow with her handkerchief and tried to review the pitiful chances. ¶ Ha, there was somebody moving in the store. Could it be that her husband had come back. She closed and locked the safe, and snached° up the letter and envelope from the table. Her limbs were shaking under her, and she was deadly, pale as she passed into the store, and her eyes fell upon — Joe Peterson. ¶ “ What do you want ? ” asked Alice in a weak voice, and then she added, tremu- lously, “ I wish you would go away. Can- not you see that I am not well ? ” She had to clutch at the edge of the coun- ter for support. ¶ Joe Peterson stared at her with brutal callousness. ¶ “ `Ullo ! ” he said, “ wot`s up ? `As yer `usband bin passin` yer one ? ” And then he added, malignantly, “ it`s about up to yer, I shud think. ” ¶ Alice Hardy swayed and caught at a shelf to keep herself from falling. “ Go away ! go away ! ” she moaned feebly. ¶ But Joe Peterson was the wrong sort of animal to go away when he had a weak woman in his power. ¶ “ A nice pair, ” he muttered, “ a nice pair ye are to give me a hidin` an` throw me out inter the road. You an` yer fancy man, Bert Milligan, and `im and the girl over at the pub. ” ¶ Oh, the horror of it ! So this brute knew too. She did not mind his lie about Bert Milligan. Her conscience was perfectly clear in that matter. But he evidently knew that Tom Hardy had been the lover of the Blake girl. There was no mistake after all. She had seen a glimmer of hope before Peterson´s ar- rival. She had felt that some horrible error was at least possible. But now this old enemy of her house was the one to dash her last hopes to the ground. ¶ “ What do you mean by connecting my husband´s name with that of any girl ? ” she asked with a quavering assumption of dignity. ¶ Joe Peterson, for all his uncouthness, was a shrewd judge of human nature. Reading the face and manner of the woman before him and comparing her unconvincing words with the thoughts that he discerned behind them, he saw in a flash that Alice Hardy more than half believed her husband to be untrue to her. He owed her something for that terrible beating. Now came his chance to hit her in return where the blow would be felt most poignantly — in her heart. ¶ “ As if everyone don`t know that Tom Hardy has been makin` love to Wilga Blake for months past, ” he said brutal- ly noting with savage pleasure that the woman winced as if lashed with a whip. ¶ “ It`s a lie, Joe Peterson ! ” said Alice, but her voice was faint and her eyes were half closed. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER XII. — TWISTING THE SKEIN. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ “ Ho, no, it ain`t a lie. It`s the Gord´s truth ! ” retorted Peterson, perjuring himself with glib assurance. “ Wy, as fur as that goes it ain`t a many weeks ago, since I seen yer `usband drivin` Wilga Blake out in the runabout clost up ter Big Hill. They nearly run over me. I was so close to them that I seen Wilga smilin` up inter his face, an` `im grinnin` back at `er same as if he`d like to eat her. If they wasn`t goin` up ter the house on `is section at Big Hill, I s`pose I`m a liar. ” ¶ Peterson gave a horrible laugh as he saw the woman cower in front of him and place her hands in front of her face as though to shut out the picture that his words had conjured up, ¶ So that was why Tom spent so much of his time on the birthright section. The wretched woman writhed with pain and rage. ¶ It was then that Peterson resolved to draw a bow at a venture — and tragically enough the arrow flew straight to the mark. ¶ “ See here, Mrs. Hardy, ” he said gruffly, “ if yer `as any doubts about if listen ter this I was lyin` behind a log in Bill Blake´s paddock, soon after sun- up this morning`, when I seen Wilga Blake beckoonin` to somebody acrost the road, and in `arf `a minute yer `usband comes over and starts chinnin` with `er over the fence. Seems like as if they`d bin `avin` some words, but I couldn`t rightly make out wot they said. An` presently she pulls out a letter, an` gives it ter` im and he stows it away in his pocket an` then he slips off, guilty like, `cause he seen you a comin` outer the store. An` Wilga Blake she goes inter the pub blubberin` all over her face. D`ye `member comin` outer the store this mornin` Mrs. Hardy ? ” ¶ “ Yes, ” said Alice faintly. ¶ “ Well, didn`t yer see `im talkin` to Wilga ? ” ¶ “ I did. ” ¶ The admission was wrung from the woman under torture. ¶ “ And — and — and I`ve read the let- ter. ” ¶ Peterson grew wary now. He was on dangerous ground. ¶ “ Reckin you`d best not let yer `usband know that, ” he remarked grimly. “ `E mightn`t like it. ” ¶ A dry sob escaped from Alice´s lips. Her cup of humiliation was full and brimming over. ¶ As Joe Peterson passed out from the store with a hateful leer on his thin lips the badgered woman retreated into her bedroom threw herself upon the bed and burst into tears. ¶ In the intervals between her sobs she could still hear the humming song of the lathe in the workshop, where Hardy, utterly unconscious of the earthquake that was opening at his feet, cheerily pursued his task of putting together little Benny´s single-seated school car.

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER XII. — ( Continued. ) ¶ TWISTING THE SKEIN. ¶ Mrs. Hardy was quite familiar with “ the Blake girl´s ” handwriting, and she recognised it at a glance. “ My own darling Tom. ” A sudden flush of colour surged over Alice Hardy´s face and neck and shoulders. Her whole body seemed to be on fire. Then the tidal wave receded as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving her white, cold, and shivering. The written lines on the page in front of her were wavy and indistinct, and her heart was throbbing furious- ly. She passed her hand wearily before her eyes and sat down slow- ly in the chair at the office table. She felt as if she had been suddenly struck a violent blow. ¶ Through the window she could see her husband at work in the open shed with little Benny playing be- side him. He was turning a piece of metal, and the humming song of the lathe came to her clearly. ¶ She spread the sheet of note paper on the table in front of her, and gradually the wavy lines settled down into their places, and the words became legible. She read the letter slowly through from beginning to end, and each damning sentence printed itself in letters of fire across her brain. ¶ My own darling Tom, ¶ Oh, how could you treat me so af- ter all that has passed between us. I never thought, while you were kissing me that day when I went over to your place in the runabout, that you would so soon forget me But I can see now that you have been keeping away from me on pur- pose, and of course I know why. Oh, how I hate to see vou even talking to that woman, Tom, dear. Of course I know Mrs. Hardy is much prettier and cleverer than I am. That`s what makes me so mad when I see you with her: She has always hated me. I suppose her instinct has told her that I love you with all my heart and soul, and that I will never give you up to any other wo- man. Tom, dear, do come to me. I am longing for you and am sick to death of my wretched life at the ho- tel. I want you to take me away with you and to love me as you did that day when I first went in the runabout to see you, and nobody at home knew a thing about it. Oh, my darling Tom, if you knew. how I longed for the sight of you, surely you would come at once to your ¶ Almost heart-broken ¶ Wilga. ¶ Who was this miserable girl who had robbed her of her husband´s love and made her name a by-word in the little community in which she lived ? Wilga Blake, the drudge of her dis- graceful old father, a common crea- ture, a mere puller of beer for the louts and blackguards by whom she was surrounded. Mrs. Hardy bit her lips until the drops of blood ap- peared, as the full enormity of the outrage was borne in upon her. ¶ And what words would deserve the treachery of the man whom she had made her husband and to whom she had given her heart ? No, she had never cared a jot for Milligan. She realised the fact now as never be- fore. It was Tom Hardy who held her love — and he alone. Yet he had been lying to her all this time. He had laid his lips upon hers. He had held her hand in his. He had spok- en words of love in her ears. But he had dared to come to her fresh from the caresses of that depraved creature in the hotel — his mistress. Pah ! It would have been absolutely incredible but for the evidence of the written words in the girl´s own hand writing — the evidence of the letter which Tom Hardy had so carefully hidden away in his safe, never dreaming that it would be discover- ed by the woman that he dishon- oured. So this was the meaning o° those interminable conversation be- tween her husband and the Blake girl. And now it appeared that he had tired of her, and the wretched creature reproached him openly with neglecting her and with turning his fickle attention back to his own wife. Good God ! it was monstrous that such a man should be permitted to live ! ¶ Thus Alice Hardy, drove onward towards disaster, tossing like a mere derelict before the hurricane of emotions that swept over her. Gra- dually she became calmer. But for the concrete evidence that lay on the table before her she would have believed in the possibility of some ghastly mistake. And then the thought flashed through her train, “ Perhaps there might be some ex- planation yet. ” She wiped her brow with her handkerchief and tried to review the pitiful chances. ¶ Ha ! there was somebody moving in the store. Could it be that her husband had come back. She closed° and locked the safe, and snatched up the letter and envelope from the table. Her limbs were shaking un- der her, and she was deadly pate as she passed into the store, and her eyes fell upon — Joe Peterson. ¶ “ What do you want ? ” asked Alice in a weak voice, and then she added tremulously, “ I wish you would go away. Cannot you see that I am not well ? ” She had to clutch at the edge of the counter for support. ¶ Joe Peterson stared at her with brutal callousness. ¶ “Ullo ! ” he said, “ wot`s up ? `As y`er `usband bin passin` yer one ? ” And then he added malignantly, “ it`s about up to yer, I shud think. ” ¶ Alice Hardy swayed and caught at a shelf to keep herself from falling. “ Go away ! go away ! ” she moaned feebly. ¶ But Joe Peterson was the wrong sort of animal to go away when he had a weak woman in his pow- er. ¶ “ A nice pair, ” he muttered, “ a nice pair ye are to give me a hidin` an` throw me out inter the road. You an` yer fancy man, Bert Milli- gan, and `im and the girl over at the pub. ” ¶ Oh, the horror of it ! So this brute knew too. She did not mind his lie about Bert Milligan. Her conscience was perfectly clear in that matter. But he evidently knew that Tom Hardy had been the lover of the Blake girl. There was no mistake af- ter all. She had seen a glimmer of hope before Peterson´s arrival. She had felt that some horrible error was at least possible. But now this old enemy of her house was the one to dash her last hopes to the ground. ¶ “ What do you mean by connecting my husband´s name with that of any girl ? ” she asked with a quavering assumption of dignity. ¶ Joe Peterson, for all his uncouth- ness, was a shrewd judge of human nature. Reading the face and man- ner of the woman before him and comparing her unconvincing words with the thoughts that he discern- ed behind them, he saw a flash that Alice Hardy already more than half believed her husband to be untrue to her. He owed her something for that terrible beating. Now came his chance to hit her in return where the blow would be felt most poign- antly — in her heart. ¶ “ As if everyone don`t know that Tom Hardy has been makin` love to Wilga Blake for months past, ” he said brutally, noting with savage pleasure that the woman winced as if lashed with a whip. ¶ It`s a lie, Joe Peterson ! ” said Alice, but her voice was faint and her eyes were half closed. ¶ Ho, no, it ain`t a lie. It`s the God´s truth ! ” retorted Peterson, perjuring himself with glib assur- ance. “ Why, as fur as that goes it ain`t many weeks ago since I seen yer `usband drivin` Wilga Blake out in the runabout close up ter Big Hill. They nearly run over me. I was so close to them that I seen Wilga smilin` up inter his face, an` `im grinnin` back at `er same as if he`d like to eat her. If they wasn`t goin` up ter the house on `is section at Big Hill, I s`pose I`m a liar. ” ¶ Peterson gave a horrible laugh as he saw the woman cower in front of him and place her hands in front of her face as though to shut out the picture that his words had conjured up. ¶ So that was why Tom spent so much of his time on the birthright section. The wretched woman wri- thed with pain and rage. ¶ It was then that Peterson resolv- ed to draw a bow at a venture — and tragically enough the arrow flew straight to the mark. ¶ “ See here, Mrs. Hardy, ” he said gruffly, “ if yer `as any doubts ab- out it listen ter this. I was lyin` behind a log in Bill Blake´s paddock soon after sun-up this mornin` when I seen Wilga Blake beckonin` to somebody acrost the road, and in `arf a minute yer `usband comes over and starts chinnin` with `er over the fence. Seems like as if they`d bin `avin` some words, but I couldn`t rightly make out wot they said. An` presently she pulls out a letter, an` gives it ter `im and he stows it away in his pocket an` then he slips off, guilty like, `cause he seen you a comin` outer the store. An` Wilga Blake she goes inter the pub blubberin` all over her face. D`ye `member comin` outer the store this mornin`, Mrs. Hardy ? ” ¶ “ Yes, ” said Alice faintly. ¶ “ Well, didn`t yer see `im talkin` to Wilga ? ” ¶ “ I did. ” ¶ The admission was wrung from the woman under torture. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER XII. — ( Continued. ) ¶ TWISTING THE SKEIN. ¶ She leaped out of bed and placed the letter in a plain envelope with- out any address. That was obvious- ly the best course in order to avoid the danger of the letter falling into inquisitive hands. Then she dressed herself as expeditiously as possible, and waited for a chance to intercept Tom Hardy. ¶ It was tedious work waiting. Everybody seemed to be later than usual in getting up that morning. Bill Blake´s success in “ keeping it up ” on the previous night was so complete that nobody wanted to face the labours of the day and there was a general inclination to turn over and have another nap in- stead of breakfasts ¶ However, there is nothing like sleeping in the open to ensure early rising, as Joe Peterson knew from long and varied experience. When Mr. Cassidy rapped on the door of Bill Blake´s Royal Hotel at mid- night — having allowed an extra hour over and above the regulations of the Licensing Act, because it was an unusual occasion, and because Mr. Cassidy always liked to tem- per justice with mercy — Joe Peter- son was lying on the floor close to the bar in a very disgraceful and unpleasing condition. As he was deaf to Bill Blake´s courteous re- quest to chase himself Bill Blake and Silas Weldon lifted the sleeper by the slack of his pants and the back and his collar, and with a well-timed “ One, two, three, now ! ” slung him well out into the road. Whereupon Joe Peterson, rudely awakened by this drastic treatment staggered into Bill Blake´s paddock that fronted the road and lay down to resume his slumbers just behind an enormous log that was shortly to be added to Bill Blake´s wood- pile. ¶ Opening his eyes lazily in the early morning, Joe Peterson saw Wilga. Blake come into the paddock, and, standing by the paling fence not ten yards away from him, wave her hand to Tom Hardy, who had just emerged in front of the store. ¶ “ What the blazes is the meanin` of this game, ” muttered Mr. Peterson behind his log. “ Good enough to watch, anyhow. ” And watch he did. He also listened. ¶ It was some time before Wilga suc- ceeded in attracting Tom´s attention but at last he caught sight of her signals, and, with some misgivings not unmixed with irritation, he obeyed the summons. ¶ “ Mornin`, ”° Mr. Hardy ! ” ¶ “ Mornin` Wilga ! What on earth are you doing out here at this hour ? It`s only just six o`clock. ” ¶ “ I couldn`t sleep a minute longer, Mr. Hardy. The fact is, I`ve had a quarrel with Mr. Broughton, and —— ” ¶ “ Oh, dash it all, Wilga, I can`t go on dry-nursing such a wayward pair of lovers as you and Tom Brough- ton for ever, you know. I really can`t. ” The usually good-natured Hardy was decidedly irritable — pro- bably as the result of his extremely moderate indulgence in Bill Blake´s beer at the banquet on the previous day. ¶ Pretty Wilga turned on the tap at once. “ You`ve always been so kind to me Mr. Hardy, ” she sobbed, “ that I can`t believe you`ll refuse to help me now. It`s such a simple thing I want you to do for me. I promise you truly that it won`t cause you the slightest bit of trouble. ¶ “ Well, what`s the matter ? ” de- manded Tom, relenting, though un- graciously. “ I can plainly see that I`ll never get any peace until I hunt up a parson and legrope° Broughton so as he can`t escape until he`s hitched up to rights. ” ¶ “ Don`t be angry with me, Mr. Hardy, but there`s something about Tom´s conduct that I really can`t tell you. I don`t say it`s all his own fault, and I`m sure he wouldn`t have done it of his own free will, but — ” ¶ “ Now, my dear girl, I haven`t the faintest notion what you`re talking about, and I have no interest at all in the subject of your quarrel with Tom Broughton. I don`t want to be dragged into it, and I don`t intend to be, but just tell me what you want me to do, and I`ll see if I can do it for you. ” ¶ “ Thank you, ever so much, Mr. Hardy. I was sure you would help me if I asked you. I only want you to take this letter to Three Tree Hill to-day and deliver it to Mr. Broughton himself and to nobody else. I can`t explain why I am ask- ing you to do this, but I feel cer- tain that you will not refuse me. ” ¶ “ Blest if you girls aren`t the deuce and all for making a mystery out of nothing, ” remarked Tom Hardy. “ Here, give me the letter ! ” Of course I`ll see that you and Tom Broughton kiss and make friends this time, but you`ll have to bring him up better in future, Wilga. I`ll not be able to help you any more. See ? ” ¶ Hardy took the letter enfolded in the plain, unaddressed envelope, from Wilga, and stuffed it into the in- side pocket of his coat. As he turned to go his wife appeared in the doorway of the store across the road and called to him. With a ges- ture of annoyance Hardy nodded good-bye to Wilga and walked across to his own quarters, while Wilga tripped back into the Royal Hotel to get the breakfast ready. ¶ It was then that Joe Peterson cautiously emerged from behind his log and shuffled off in the direction of his solitary humpy rubbing his hands. ¶ There was a slight cloud “ no big- ger than a man´s hand ” between Hardy and his wife at breakfast time, and even little Benny´s art- less chatter could not altogether dissipate it. Alice was annoyed to find her husband engaged in another of those mysterious conversations across the paling fence with “ that Blake girl, ” and Tom was furious with himself for having given her cause for annoyance, and furious with Wiga for having dragged him into a position that seemed to af- ford a semblance of justification for his wife´s absurd suspicions. How- ever, apart from a slight curtness and frostiness in their conversation there was no indication of any trou- ble that could not be readily ex- plained away. ¶ Hardy resolved to take the letter to Tom Broughton that afternoon, on his way out to the birthright section. In the meantime he would put it in the safe with the cash and cheques passed over the counter in the ordinary course of business, and awaiting transmission to the bank. What a nuisance Wilga was with her love affair. He heartily wished that he had never mixed himself up in it. He opened the door of the safe, placed the letter inside, locked the thick little steel door, and replaced the key in his waistcoat pocket. ¶ Whew ! It was unusually warm for the time of year. Tom walked round the back of the store looking for lit- tle Benny to go with him to the workshop where the single-seated electric car was awaiting some final touches. No Benny visible. Hardy went back into the store, took off his coat and waistcoat and hung them up on the nail in the corner behind the counter. As Benny came running in with glowing cheeks and curls flying, Tom swung him up in his arms and forgot all his petty sources of irritation. ¶ “ Come along with dad, Benny. You and I will soon get a move out of her. ” ¶ And together they went off to the workshop across the paddock. ¶ While the humming of the buzz-saw in the workshop informed all and sundry that Hardy and his small son were absorbed in their construction programme the long arm of coinci- dence reached out and gripped Jim Burn, and placed his large feet in the road leading from the bridge to the township. A subtle voice rising up out of the depths of Jim Burn´s lower self whispered insistently in his ear that it was time he had a drink, a big drink, a long-extended drink, a drink such as would be a worthy sequel to the six months´ spell of temperance and hard work and responsibility that he had just gone through. Mr. Pascoe had told him that he could have a day off be- fore clearing up the odds and ends of the great job. Jim had a ten- pound cheque in his pocket, and the contractors´ runabout was doing no- thing. He would take Alf Kiggins with him for company. Kiggins was the foreman´s chief understudy — a decent chap and one who always drank fair. Jim decided that the time was opportune for a business call on Bill Blake at the Royal Ho- tel. ¶ The question of ways and means was capable of an easy solution. Jim decided to rash his cheque at the store, and then stroll across and see what was doing at the hotel. ¶ And so it came about that less than half an hour after the great thought had struck him like a splen- did inspiration. Jim Burn, with Alf. Kiggins seated beside him, pull- ed up the contractor´s working car in front of the store, and alighted to transact the essential preliminary of getting “ the stuff. ” ¶ Mrs. Hardy was behind the coun- ter and greeted her callers with a bright smile. The men from the con- struction camp had been good cus- tomers for many months. Cash a cheque ? Why, of course. How much was it for ? ¶ Jim extracted the carefully folded slip of paper from his trouser pocket and handed it across the counter. Ten pounds ! Oh, dear ; Mrs. Hardy was afraid she had not as much change in the store. “ But wait a minute, Mr Burn, and I`ll see what I can do for you, ” she added with a charming smile, and Jim gave Mr. Kiggins a sly dig in the ribs which intimated as plainly as possible that the sub-foreman should note the smiles which beauty accorded to his chief. ¶ Alice Hardy examined the till with misgivings. Three half-crowns and a battered threepenny bit ! The store had been closed all the previous day on account of the opening ceremony at the bridge, and the takings that morning were scanty. ¶ “ I`m afraid I`ll have to run across to the workshop and ask Tom, ” she said ruefully. “ I know he has plen- ty of cash in his private safe. ” ¶ Jim Burn began to apologise pro- fusely. He would not give her all that trouble on any account. Was it really necessary to fetch Torn from his work ? Couldn`t she open the safe herself ? ¶ And then it flashed across Alice that Tom always carried the key of the safe in his waistcoat pocket. There was his waistcoat hanging up on the nail underneath his coat. ¶ She soon found the key. ¶ “ All right, I`ll be back in a minu- te, Mr. Burn, ” she said, and, with the key in her hand, she vanished into Tom´s little office, in the cor- ner of which stood the safe on a solid shelf. ¶ Opening the safe she found a roll of notes lying on the top of some cheques and loose papers, and leaving the door open she went back to the shop, counted out ten notes, and handed them to Jim Burn, receiving his cheque in exchange. Jim made his exit with many thanks, accom- panied by the trusty Kiggins, and the thirsty pair were half way to the bar of the Royal before Alice got back to Tom´s office to put in the cheque and the remainder of the notes and lock up the safe again. ¶ She was just closing the door when her eye fell on bit a plain enve- lope bearing no address, but obvious- ly containing an enclosure. Probably it contained money, she reflected. As it was tolerably certain that Jim Burn´s example would be copied during the day by any other of the contractors´ men who could get away from their work it would be just as well to see exactly how much money she had available for cash- ing the inevitable cheques. ¶ For a fraction of a second she hesitated. Then she broke open the envelope and extracted Wilga´s let- ter. ¶ ( To be Continued ).

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER XII. — ( Continued. ) ¶ TWISTING THE SKEIN. ¶ “ And — and — and I`ve read the let- ter. ” ¶ Peterson grew wary now. He was on dangerous ground. ¶ “ Rechon you`d best not let yer `usband know that, ” he , remarked grimly. “ `E mightn`t like it. ” ¶ A dry sob escaped from Alice´s lips. Her cup of humiliation was full and brimming over. ¶ As Joe Peterson passed out from the store with a hateful leer on his thin lips the badgered woman re- treated into her bedroom, threw her self upon the bed and burst into tears. ¶ In the intervals between her sobs she could still hear the humming song of the lathe in the workshop, where Tom Hardy, utterly uncon- scious of the earthquake that was opening at his feet, cheerily pursued his task of putting together little Benny´s single-seated school car. ¶ CHAPTER XIII. ¶ “ ASK ME NO MORE. ” ¶ “ Events moved rapidly that day at the store and post of- fice. ¶ In the first place Tom Hardy — whistling gaily over his work while little Benny danced round asking in- terminable questions — screwed up the last bolt of the little electric car. He had bought the motor in Syd- ney, and had made the little car- riage himself. After a long morn- ings´s work he had completed the ad- justments, and little Benny was in raptures. ¶ Nothing would do but that they must have a trial trip at once. So Benny was hoisted into the driving seat and the car made the circuit of the paddock, while Benny manipulat- ed the steering wheel like the true son of his extremely handy father. ¶ “ Do let`s have a go on the road, dad, ” shouted Benny in an ecstasy of excitement, and Tom, who never could resist his small son anything at once consented. He pulled his own car out of the shed, piloted {Benny through the gate, and start-} ted off at a fair speed on the road to Big Hill. ¶ Benny shrieked with glee as the little car bumped along on its solid tyres in the wake of the runabout. ¶ “ Let her go, Gallagher ! ” yelled the urchin, and Gallagher, in the person of Tom Hardy, did let her go with such good will that they were six miles from home before they slowed down ¶ “ Come along, Benny, ” said Tom, “ we may as well go on to the sec- tion now. There`s a bit of tucker up at the house, and we`ll have lunch there. ¶ Never had Benny enjoyed a picnic so much. Tom produced biscuits and sardines from a cupboard, and they took their simple meal in the shade of the solitary blue gum, which Tom called “ the tree of destiny. ” Its tall trunk shot up into the sky, and its spreading branches made a grateful shade for the father and son who had once found refuge and safety on its boughs. ¶ When the meal was finished Hardy took little Benny by the hand and strolled through the slip panel lead- ing to the railway land that ran down to Ryan´s Leap. On the way he met Mr. Pascoe, who welcomed him warmly. ¶ “ She looks fine, doesn`t she ? ” re- marked Pascoe, fixing his gaze on the bridge that spanned the abyss. The steel tubes bolted together from the abutments on each side to the cen- tral hinge made a span with a beautiful, long, low arch, and along the top of the concrete-filled steel troughing the single broad line of the monorail gleamed in the sun. The bridge with its footway beside the single rail had a width of no more than four feet at the top. ¶ “ Looks narrow, don`t she ? ” said Tom. ¶ “ She`s more than wide enough for the work, ” replied Pascoe. “ You see, the gyro-car herself has a width over all of eighteen feet, and she overhangs the bridge on both sides. Goes across like a man on a tight rope — but a bit faster. You`re in luck to be up here to-day. The Chief Commissioner is running a trial trip from Bottlebrush this afternoon. She`ll be here directly. It`ll be a sight not to miss, too. She`s to go through at an average speed of a hundred and ten miles an hour, though they reckon that they can get a hundred and fifty miles an hour out of her with perfect safety. ¶ “ Good lord ! Is she going to cross the bridge at a speed of a hundred and ten miles an hour ? ” ¶ “ Sure thing. You`ll have to keep your eyes open to see her at all, ” Mr. Pascoe took his note book and pencil from his pocket and jotted down a few figures. ¶ “ The gyro-car will be travelling at a hundred and ten miles an hour, and the bridge is exactly two hun- dred feet long. Therefore she`ll be just a shade over one second in cross- ing it. ” ¶ As Pascoe finished speaking a faint humming sound could be heard in the distance. It grew steadily loud- er and louder. ¶ “ Here she comes ! ” ejaculated Pas- coe excitedly. ¶ The humming grew to a low roar. ¶ “ She`s nearing the entrance to the tunnel now. The wind`s this way. That`s why we can hear her so plainly. She`s about five miles away I judge. Two and a-half minutes be- fore we see her. ” ¶ Pascoe held his watch in his hand and presently the low roar was deadened as though some mighty hand had wrapped the distant lion´s head in a blanket. ¶ “ She`s just entered the tunnel, ” said Pascoe rapidly. “ It`s exactly a mile long, and she fits it with scarcely a foot of clearance on each side. You`ll see her in thirty sec- onds. ” ¶ The muffled roar increased in vol- ume. The lion was making a fran- tic effort to get his head out of the blanket. Pascoe counted off the sec- onds. “ Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty- five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twen- tyr-eight, twenty-nine. Now ! ” ¶ As he uttered the word something flashed in the dark mouth of the tunnel. The muffled roar changed to the ringing clangour of steel upon steel, and the gyro-car shot across the chasm like a huge projectile, and vanished in the broad pathway cut for its track through the thick timber on the flanks of Big Hill. In four minutes it would be at Wara- tah Valley. ¶ Little Benny clapped his hands vig- orously, while Tom Hardy rubbed his eyes as he looked at the bridge. The gyro-car had passed so quickly that its appearance conveyed the effect of a momentary hallucination. But the bridge with its hollow-steel tubes proclaimed aloud the actuality of the occurrence. It was ringing like a tuning-fork. ¶ “ She`s to start back at midnight for Bottlebrush, ” said Pascoe quiet- ly. “ Dick Barr, who has been driving the western monorail mail since the track was opened, is in charge. They brought him down on purpose for this trip just to see what speed he can get out of her. He told Mr. Banks that he expected to do the fifty mile run to-night in twenty minutes — that`s at an average speed of a hundred and fifty miles an hour. It`s worth while stopping to see her go through. ” ¶ Tom thought of Wilga´s letter that he had left in the office safe. He had promised to deliver it up to Brou- ghton at once. Still, surely it could wait. A day more or less would make no difference to Wilga and her erratic admirer. Then he thou- ght of Alice. It was a great nuis- ance that he had been too busy to fix up the wireless telephone yet. He would have to let his wife know somehow or other, that he would be late home. ¶ He mentioned the matter to Pas- coe, who solved the difficulty at once. “ I`ll send Jim Burn in with a message on the working-car as soon as he gets back, ” he said. “ You and Benny had better stop here and have a bit of tucker with me. As a matter of fact, I`ve got to see it myself, because I want to see how the bridge stands the racket. I`ll have to test it afterwards. The vib- ration must be terrific. ” ¶ As the two men walked back to the engineer´s office Pascoe spoke again in a more serious tone. ¶ “ By the way, Hardy, ” he said, “ there`s something I want to speak to you about. I have no desire to pry into your private concerns, but Banks and I have been talking ab- out that miraculous escape you had when the rope broke with you as you wore swinging in to make con- nection with the site of the abut- ments for us. ” ¶ Tom became obstinate at once. “ I told you before, ” he said, “ that I don`t wish to reopen that subject. Let us take it that it was a pure accident. ” ¶ “ Neither Banks nor I can agree with that view, ” said Pascoe firm- ly, “ and we think that you should help us to sheet home that at- tempted murder to the guilty man. In a matter of this kind we think it is your duty to set aside your pri- vate feelings in the interests of justice. ” ¶ Tom set his teeth hard and thought of the brutal insult that Peterson had offered to his wife on the lonely road, and of the punishment that he himself had inflicted on the scoundrel. Surely, to make the facts public would cause needless suffering to his wife. ¶ “ I can give you no assistance, Mr. Pascoe, ” he replied doggedly. ¶ “ Well, Hardy, ” said the engineer, I must tell you now that we have very strong evidence pointing to the identity of the man who made that cold-blooded attempt upon your life. A knife has been found by Kiggins in the long grass, beside the log on which I placed the coil of new Man- ila rope which I had just tested. Kiggins brought me that knife which was rusty from long exposure to the weather. Careful and exhaustive in- quiry showed that it did not be- long to any of our men. Quite re- cently we have secured proof that it was seen in possession of a man named Peterson on the day of the so-called accident. One of our men saw him cutting tobacco with it. ” ¶ “ That`s nothing to go on, ” said Tom, stubbornly. “ Even if it is Peterson´s knife how does that con- nect him with the affair ? ” ¶ Pascoe eyed Tom Hardy sternly. “ Look here, ” he said, “ it`s quite clear to me that you know more about this than you pretend to know. I do not, of course, under- stand your motive for trying to shield this man Peterson. It may be a most laudable one, but it is my duty to bring to justice the man who cut that rope half way through just before you descended by it. I saw him myself sitting on the coil of rope, and his knife has been found beside the spot. Banks and I are fully convinced that we have found the man, and, as a matter of fact, we have already laid information upon which a warrant has been is- sued for the arrest of Peterson. That warrant will be in the hands of Cassidy the constable this afternoon and it will be executed, I hope, be- fore many hours are over. ” ¶ Tom shrugged his shoulders. Per- haps it was better after all that Peterson should be laid by the heels. Of course the whole story would come out in court, and it would be decidedly unpleasant both for Alice and himself. Still it was only justice that the brute should be punished, and, indeed, if he were not punished, there was no knowing how his next attempt might end. ¶ “ Look here, ” he said to Pascoe, “ I may as well tell you the whole story. At any rate, I have nothing to be ashamed of in my share of it. ” ¶ And he told him. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

OUR SERIAL STQBY, THE DASHWOODS. - ? ? -- ~ — , . (BY STEELE RUDD.) ?.GI-tAPTER'XH.-fConiinued.) ? ?^I've two sixpences,' James 'Whispered, and iprcssssd h!s Larid ' -agafinst Peter's. Peter elutched at! [the proffered coiii and itearly took a joint of one of James's fingers with it. The plate arrived. Peter planked His piece on top of tha pile. It gave . 'ft&e man behirid the plate' a, surprise. It gave Peter one, too; and it nearly ! took James's breath away.' It. was . a gold-piece— James's only half sove . xeign. Jps Premier, and his wile seemed ;' ?So take a different view of Peter- , They looked as though tiiey would t£ .pleased to know him. Peter, himself suddenly felt on ao erjuality with ? Shem. He sat up straight, and tr.s ayes grained with the light and .uoasoiousoeus of wealth and philan Ifcuiophy. But James fdit different to iPeter. A heavy, sinking! feeling saera ed to come' over him. His teeth rat tled, and lie dug Ms fingw nailB|in*o Peter's thigh. But .Poter only listen ed to the organ. The benediction, was pronounced, amd the congregation rosq and start ed to file oyt. James bixJ Peter were almost last to heave. At the door the' man who took up ? She collection was waiting with learning cpuatenanotf. He shook hands ? with, Peter, and enquired if he was a stranger. Peter 'said .be was,, and told -him ?where'. he came Iboiu. iThe churchman said nothing to .tfam.es. ' (Ho shook hands, with Potor again, ?BBSS hoped to see him become a regu lar attendant at the services. Petef (smiled and hurried aitert Jp-iiks. ?They passed out the gata and walk ed through the streets for about a mile before James tVjok'o. 'At last he looked at Peter, ^i-d said: 'Of course I only lent you {Shaft balf sovereign1, remember!' X. 'Hah! hah! hah! Hah! Tiah! «& '^ liab-h-h! ' cftme loudly from Peter. ?And a solitary policeman stancKmg on ithe opposite side of the 'street stare*, wondering!)' across. j- CHAPTER VIII. ?:?- V ' ^tUNtf A'£' pgain. The' ^vbble' family ~' rambling, through the great pub lic park. Mrs. Dashwood and th« girts in heaven amongst, the panoply of flowers, ferns, artistic nooks, and' bowers .and shapely, shaven lawns. They dragged old John here, there, ani everjwhere, around -this bed, down -his path, and from hill-top to water's edge. They searched for his torical spots and monuments, for nights they had heard others talk of and for sights they had never Iward oT at ai'l. Peter and -James' struck out on their 'own account. Flowers and ferns, with a gloomy weather-worn old monument or two thrown in,, were not in their line. They be ftime 'interested in the forms and types of humanity that were around them. And such forms, such type8! Verily, rb were as though all tho freaks and misfortunes of nature had been gathered togetfuer from all. parts of the earth and emptied into that domain. The blind, the stunted, the lame, the halt, the limbless, the ; lungless, the hqjcless, the homeless, | all were in evidence there. On every j hand; at every turn,- they were i crouched ? beneath the spreading trees ,unno1siced by the hordes of leisure seekers, as unregarded by tJhe world in general as though they bad never lived. Aiged and decrepid pensioners hob bled freely about on sticks; careltesa . nurse-girls, with other peoples' in fants hanging anyhow in tiheir arms lettered around; girlish wives, with boyish husbands at tbe.ir sides pushed the' precious first-bom along in its new gorgeous perambulator; crowds of merry children, let loose for the day, romped riotously over everything. Prom improvised plat forms stumperators shouted them selves hoarse for the benefit of jeeri ing, cheering crowds that out of ciricsity assembled to heat their, mouthsport. Cricket pitches, tennis courts, and bowlipg preens were in j hill play. And as interested specta i tors of tire latter James and Peter, . in the course of an hour or so, found themselves seated at the butt oi . . p large shade troe. The rinks were sprinkled with tot tering old grey-beards and grand fathers, blg-bingied, stiff-backed oM fogies, who d5d nothing all the week but smoke cigars and pose as 'lead- ing citizens.' There were a hundred :.oi more .of him in ,. short, sleeves and flannels, and a Saithlul portrait of any one would have ' been a valu- ( able asset, in the days ol the hum orous valentine. What the game was all about or what -constituted the skull of it. or what ' didn't,' James and Peter hadn't the remotest idea, but they saw great fun in it, and 'sometimes lstugh ed till' they nearly hurt themselves. 'J_iook, iooV.ati the old cove in the middle, with the braces; watch him' Peter cried, tugging hysterically at James. Jqmes fixed his gaze on that 'old cove:' and followed his movements closely. The 'old cove,' with one withered hand supporting the bawl, the oth er pressed against his left hip, bent down, carefully and cautiovisly., »ill he' was almost sVtting or lying on the lawn. A blatant, breathless sort of individua.1 of the larrikin1 class, standing m the vicinity of Jbmos and Peter, groaned ,-a _ loud, satirical groan, in the interests pi the feeble ? bowler, and added to the enjoyment of our two friends. They turned thoir attention to the larrikin. De iisrhted to find he was affording am usement to some one he lifted his voice, a note or two ihigher and. call*, ed: 'Now, then, Spoflorth!' This hoary bowler bent some more, and; satisfied thafc his feat h an' ' grip on the earth, ? and t^at his ' sditit was .correct, slowly extaihid the bowl to arm's length. 'Now, -'ien! ah'h!' bellowed the' larrikin, and James and Peter broke into fresh merriment. (To be Continued.)

¶ Love and the Æroplane. ¶ CHAPTER XII. ¶ TWISTING THE SKEIN. ¶ And what words would describe the treachery of the man whom she had made her husband and to whom she had given her heart ? No, she had never cared a jot for Milligan. She realised that fact now as never before. It was Tom Hardy who held her love — and he alone. Yet he had been lying to her all this time. He had laid his lips upon hers. He had held her hand in his. He had spoken words of love in her ears. But he had dared to come to her fresh from the caresses of that depraved crea- ture in the hotel — his mistress. Pah ! It would have been absolutely incred- ible but for the evidence of the written words in the girl´s own handwriting — the evidence of the letter which Tom Hardy had so carefully hidden away in his safe, never dreaming that it would be discovered by the woman that he had dishonoured. So this was the mean- ing of loose interminable conversations between her husband and the Blake girl, And now it appared° that he had tired of her, and the wretched creature reproached him openly with neglecting her and with turning his fickle atten- tion back to his own wife. Good God ! It was monstrous that such a man should be permitted to live ! ¶ Thus Alice Hardy, drove onward to wards disaster, tossing like a mere dere- lict before the hurricane of emotions that swept over her. Gradually she became calmer. But for the concrete evidence that lay on the table before her she would have believed in the pos- sibility of some ghastly mistake. And then the thought flashed through her brain, “ Perhaps there might be some explanation yet. ” She wiped her brow with her handkerchief and tried to re- view the pitiful chances. ¶ Ha ! There was somebody moving in the store. Could it be that her husband had come back. She closed and locked the safe, and matched up the letter and envelope from the table. Her limbs were shaking under her, and she was deadly pale as she passed into the store, and her eyes fell upon — Joe Pet- erson. ¶ “ What do you want ? ” asked Alice in a weak, voice, and then she added tremulously, “ I wish you would go away. Cannot you see that I am not well ? ” She had to clutch at the edge of the counter for support. ¶ Joe Peterson stared at her with brut- al callousness. ¶ “ `Ullo ! ” he said, “ wot`s up ? `As yer `usband bin passing yer one ? ” And then he added malignantly, “ It`s about up to yer, I shud think. ” ¶ Alice Hardy swayed and caught at a shelf to keep herself from falling. “ Go away ! go away ! ” she moaned feebly. ¶ But Joe peterson° was the wrong sort of animal to go away when he had a weak woman in his power. ¶ “ A nice pair, ” he muttered, “ a nice pair ye are to give me a hidin` an` throw me out inter the road. You an` yer fancy man, Bert Milligan, and `im and the girl over, at the pub. ” ¶ Oh, the horror of it ! So this brute knew, too. She did not mind his lie about Bert Milligan. Her conscience was perfectly clear in that matter. But he evidently knew that Tom Hardy had been the lover of the Blake girl. There was no mistake after all. She had seen a glimmer of hope before Peter- son´s arrival. She had felt that some horrible error was at least possible. But now this old enemy of her house was the one to dash her last hopes to the ground. ¶ “ What do you mean by connecting my husband´s name with that of any girl ? ” she asked with a quavering as- sumption of dignity. ¶ Joe Peterson, for all his uncouthness, was a shrewd judge of human nature. Reading the face and manner of the wo- man before him and comparing her un- convincing words with the thoughts that he discerned behind them, he saw in a flash that Alice already more than half believed her husband to be untrue to her. He owed her something for that terrible beating. Now came his chance to hit her in return where the blow would he felt most poignantly — in her heart. ¶ “ As if everyone don`t know that Tom Hardy has been makin` love to Wilga Blake for months past, ” he said brutally, noting with savage pleasure that the woman winced as if lashed with a whip. ¶ “ It`s a lie, Joe Peterson ! ” said Alice, but her voice was faint and her eyes were half closed. ¶ “ Ho, no, it ain`t a lie. It`s the Gord´s truth ! ” retorted Peterson, per- juring himself with glib assurance. “ Why, as fur as that goes it ain`t a many weeks since I seen yer `usband drivin` Wilga Blake out in the run- about clost up ter Big Hill. They near- ly run over me. I was so close to them that I seen Wilga smilin` up inter his face an` `im grinnin` back at `er same as if he`d like to eat her. If they wasn`t goin` up ter the house on `is section at Big Hill, I s`pose I`m a liar. ” ¶ Peterson gave a horrible laugh as he saw the woman cower in front of him, and place her hands in front of her face as though to shut out the picture that his words had conjured up. ¶ So that was why Tom spent so much of his time on his birthright section. The wretched woman writhed with pain and rage. ¶ It was then that Peterson resolved to draw a bow at a venture — and trag- ically enough the arrow flew straight to the mark. ” ¶ “ See here, Mrs. Hardy, ” he said gruffly, “ if yer as any doubts about it listen ter this. I was lyin` behind a log in Bill Blake´s paddock soon after sun-up this mornin`, when I seen Wilga Blake beckonin` somebody acrost the road, and in `arf a minute yer `usband comes over and starts chinnin` with `er over the fence. Seems like as if they`d bin `avin` some words, but I couldn`t rightly make out wot they said. An` presently she pulls out a let- ter, an` gives it ter `im, and he stows it away in his pocket an` then he slips off, guilty like, `cause he seen you a comin` outer the store. An` Wilga Blake she goes inter the pub blubberin` all over her face. D`ye `member com- in` outer the store this mornin`, Mrs. Hardy ? ” ¶ “ Yes, ” said Alice faintly. ¶ “ Well, didn`t yer see `im talkin` to Wilga ? ” ¶ “ I did. ” ¶ The admission was wrung from the woman under torture. ¶ “ And — and — and I`ve read the let- ter. ¶ Peterson grew wary now. He was on dangerous ground. ¶ “ Reckon you`d best not let yer `us- band know that, ” he remarked grimly. “ `E mightn`t like it. ” ¶ A dry sob escaped from Alice´s lips. Her cup of humiliation was full and brimming over. ¶ As Joe Peterson passed out from the store with a hateful leer on his thin lips the badgered woman retreated into her bedroom, threw herself upon the bed and burst into tears. ¶ At intervals between her sobs, she could still hear the humming song of the lathe in the workshop, where Tom Hardy, utterly unconscious of the earth- quake that was opening at his feet, cheerily pursued his task of putting to- gether little Benny´s single seated school car. ¶ CHAPTER XIII. ¶ “ ASK ME NO MORE. ” ¶ Events moved rapidly that day at the store and post office. ¶ In the first place Tom Hardy — whistl- ing gaily over his work, while little Benny danced round asking intermin- able questions — screwed up the last nut upon the last bolt of the little electric car. He had bought the motor in Syd- ney, and had made the little carriage himself. After a long morning´s work he had completed the adjustments, and little Benny was in raptures. ¶ Nothing would do but they must have a trial trip at once. So Benny was hoisted into the driving seat and the car made the circuit of the paddock, while Benny manipulated the steering wheel like the true son of his extreme- ly handy father. ¶ “ Do let`s have a go on the road, dad, ” shouted Benny in an ecstacy of excitement, and Tom, who never could resist his small son anything, at once consented. He pulled his own car out of the shed, piloted Benny through the gate, and started off at a fair speed on the road to Big Hill. ¶ Benny shrieked with glee as the little car bumped along on its solid tyres in the wake of the runabout. ¶ “ Let her go, Gallagher ! ” yelled the urchin, and Gallagher, in the person of Tom Hardy, did let her go with such good will that they were six miles from home before they slowed down. ¶ “ Come along, Benny, ” said Tom, “ we may as well go on to the section now. There`s a bit of tucker up at the house, and we`ll have lunch there. ¶ Never had Benny enjoyed a picnic so much. Tom produced biscuits and sar- dines from a cupboard, and they took their simple meal in the shade of the solitary blue gum, which Tom called “ the tree of destiny. ” Its tall trunk shot up into the sky, and its spreading branches made a grateful shade for the father and son who had once found re- fuge and safety in its boughs. ¶ “ When the meal was finished Hardy took little Benny by the hand and strolled through the slip panel leading to the railway, land that ran down to Ryan´s Leap. On the way he met Mr. Pascoe, who welcomed him warmly. ¶ “ She looks fine, doesn`t she ? ” re- marked Pascoe, fixing his gaze on the bridge that spanned the abyss. The steel tubes bolted together from the abutments on each side to the central hinge made a span with a beautiful, long, low arch, and along the top of the concrete filled steel troughing the single broad line of the monorail gleam- ed in the sun. The bridge with its foot- way beside the single rail had a width of no more than four feet at the top. ¶ “ Looks narrow, don`t she ? ” said Tom. ¶ “ She`s more than wide enough for the work, ” replied Pascoe. “ You see, tho gyro-car herself has a width over all of eighteen feet, and she overhangs the bridge on both sides. Goes across like a man on a tight rope — but a bit faster. You`re in luck to be up here to-day. The Chief Commissioner is running a trial trip from Bottlebrush this afternoon. She`ll be here directly. It`ll be a sight not to miss, too. She`s to go through at an average speed of a hundred and ten miles an hour, though they reckon that they can get a hun- dred and fifty miles an hour out of her with perfect safety. ¶ “ Good lord ! Is she going to cross the bridge at a speed of a hundred and ten miles an hour ? ” ¶ “ Sure thing. You`ll have to keep your eyes open to see her at all, ” Mr. Pascoe took his note book and pencil from his pocket and jotted down a few figures. ¶ “ The gyro-car will be travelling at a hundred and ten miles an hour, and the bridge is exactly two hundred feet long. Therefore she`ll be just a shade over one second in crossing it. ” ¶ As Pascoe finished speaking, a faint humming sound could be heard in the distance. It grew steadily louder and louder. ¶ “ Here she comes, ” ejaculated Pas- coe excitedly. ¶ The humming grew to a low roar. ¶ “ She`s nearing the entrance to the tunnel now. The wind`s this way. That`s why we can hear her so plainly. She`s about five miles away, I judge. Two and a half minutes before we see her. ” ¶ Pascoe held his watch in his hand, and presently the low roar was deaden- ed as though some mighty hand had wrapped the distant lion´s head in a blanket. ¶ “ She`s just entered the tunnel, ” said Pascoe rapidly. “ It`s exactly a mile long, and she fits it with scarcely a foot of clearance on each side. You`ll see her in thirty seconds. ” ¶ The muffled roar increased in volume. The lion was making a frantic effort to get his head out of the blanket. Pas- coe counted off the seconds. “ Twenty- one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty- four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty- seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine. Now ! ” ¶ As he uttered the word something flashed in the dark mouth of the tunnel. The muffled roar changed to the ring- ing clangour of steel upon steel, and the gyro-car shot across the chasm like a huge projectile, and vanished in the broad pathway cut for its track through the thick timber on the flank of Big Hill. In four minutes it would be at Waratah Valley. ¶ Little Benny clapped his hands vig- orously, while Tom Hardy rubbed his eyes as he looked at the bridge. The gyro-car had passed so quickly that its appearance conveyed the effect of a momentary hallucination. But the bridge with its hollow steel tubes pro- claimed aloud the actuality of the oc- currence. It was ringing like a tuning fork. ¶ “ She`s to start back at midnight for Bottlebrush, ” said Pascoe quietly. “ Dick Burr, who has been driving the western monorail mail since the track was opened, is in charge. They brought him down on purpose for this trip just to see what speed he can get out of her. He told Mr. Banks that he expected to do the fifty mile run to-night In twenty minute — that`s an average speed of a hundred and fifty miles an hour. It`s worth while stopping to see her go through. ” ¶ Tom thought of Wilga´s letter that he had left in the office safe. He had promised to deliver it to Broughton at once. Still, surely it could wait. A day more or less would make no differ- ence to Wilga and her erratic admirer. Then he thought of Alice. It was a great nuisance that he had been too busy to fix up the wireless telephone yet. He would have to let his wife know, somehow or other, that he would be late home. ¶ He mentioned the matter to Pascoe, who solved the difficulty at once. “ I`ll send Jim Burn in with a message on the working car as soon as he gets back, ” he said. “ You and Benny had better stop heer° and have a bit of tucker with me. We`ll se° the gyro-car go through at midnight. As a matter of fact, I`ve got to see it myself, because I want to see how the bridge stands the racket. I`ll have to test it afterwards. The vi- bration must be terrific. ” ¶ As the two men walked back to the engineer´s office Pascoe spoke again in a more serious tone. ¶ “ By the way, Hardy, ” he said, “ there`s something that I want to speak to you about. I have no desire to pry into your private concerns, but Bank and I have been talking about that miraculous escape you had when the rope broke with you as you were swinging in to make connection with the site of the abutments for us. ” ¶ Tom became obstinate at once. “ I told you before, ” he said, “ that I do not want to reopen that subject. Let us take it that it was a pure accident. ” ¶ “ Neither Banks nor I can agree with that view, ” said Pascoe firmly, “ and we think that you should help us to sheet home that attempted murder to the guilty man. In a matter of this kind we think it is your duty to set aside your private feelings in the in- terests of justice. ” ¶ Tom set his teeth hard, and thought of the brutal insult that Peterson had offered to his wife on the lonely road, and of the punishment that he himself had indicted on the scoundrel. Surely, to make the facts public would cause endless suffering to his wife. ¶ “ I can give you no assistance, Mr. Pascoe, ” he replied doggedly. ¶ “ Well, Hardy, ” said the engineer, “ I must tell you now that we have very strong evidence pointing to the identity of the man who made that cold-blooded attempt upon your life, A knife has been found by Kiggins in the long grass beside the log on which I placed the coil of new Manila rope which I had just tested. Kiggins brought me that knife, which was rusty from long ex- posure to the weather. Careful and ex- haustive inquiry showed that it did not belong to any of our mob. Quite re- cently we have secured proof that it was seen in possession of a man named Peterson on the day of the so-called ac- cident. One of our men saw him cut- ting tobacco with it. ” ¶ “ That`s nothing to go on, ” said Tom, stubbornly. “ Even if it is Peter- son´s knife how does that connect him with the affair ? ” ¶ Pascoe eyed Tom Hardy sternly, “ Look here, ” he said, “ it`s quite clear to me that you know more about this than you pretend to know. I do not, of course, understand your motive for try- ing to shield this man Peterson. It may be a most laudable one, but it is my duty to bring to justice the man who cut that rope half-way through just be- fore you descended by it. I saw him myself sitting on the coil of rope, and his knife has been found beside the spot. Banks and I are fully convinced that we have found the man, and, as a matter of fact, we have already laid information upon which a warrant has been issued for the arrest of Peterson. That warrant will be in the hands of Cassidy the constable this afternoon, and it will be executed, I hope, before many hours are over. ” ¶ Tom shrugged his shoulders. Per- haps it was better after all that Peter- son should be laid by the heels. Of course the whole story would come out in court, and it would be decidedly un- pleasant both for Alice and himself. Still, it was only justice that the brute should be punished, and, indeed, if he were not punished, there was no know- ing how his next attempt might end. ¶ “ Look here, ” he said to Pascoe, “ I may as well tell you the whole story. At any rate, I have nothing to be as- hamed of in my share of it. ” ¶ And he told him. ¶ Pascoe listened gravely to Tom´s re- cital of the facts — the drunken, out- rageous assault upon the unprotected woman on the lonely road to Big Hill, and the condign punishment meted out to the offender on the same evening. He heard, too, how Peterson had carefully kept out of Hardy´s way ever since, he had occasionally visited the store, and insulted Mrs. Hardy during her hus- band´s absence. ¶ “ He`s as good as fitted already, ” re- marked the engineer. “ It`d be ten years for a certainty. Come along down now and have a look at the bridge. I want to see how she stood the vibration. ” ¶ So Tom Hardy elected to keep little Benny with him and to stay with Pas- coe until the gyro-car passed back on its return trip. Jim Burn could take a message back to Alice when he arrived in the working car. ¶ But the afternoon wore on, and Jim Burn came not. With flushed face and fluent tongue he sat on the verandah of the Royal Hotel recounting to Silas Weldon and Bill Blake the various dar- ing and courageous exploits that he had achieved when he followed the hazard- ous occupation of a “ rigger. ” Greatly in demand was Jim Burn, according to his own account, wherever desperate deeds were to be done. Silas Weldon listened with a sardonic smile, and drank all the beer that Jim Burn or- dered for him. As for Alf. Kiggins, that worthy was already reduced to somnolence. ¶ Across the road in the store sat Alice Hardy, white faced and with great dark rings round her eyes. At intervals she shivered violently like a person suffer- ing from malaria. She could not find her husband. He was nowhere about the place. And the runabout was gone from the shed. She held Wilga Blake´s ill-omened letter in her hand. When ever her eye rested for a moment on the opening words she shivered again. “ My own darling Tom. ” That was how an- other woman had written to Alice Har- dy´s husband. ¶ Mrs. Hardy had eaten nothing since breakfast, and she had sustained a se- vere mental shock. She was rapidly re- laxing her grip of actualities, and los- ing the ability to see facts in their pro- per perspective, when Joe Peterson, with a malignant grin on his face, en- tered the store. ¶ “ Wot, all by yerself again ! ” he ob- served with boorish irony. “ `Usband not come `ome yet. I thort not or I wouldn`t `ave called. ” ¶ “ What do you want ? ” said the dis- tracted woman, “ and why do you come here to insult me ? ” ¶ “ Well, I just called with a bit er nooze for ye, ” said Peterson sardonic- ally, resting his two hands on the coun- ter and peering with his bloodshot eyes into the woman´s face. “ I knows yer always likes to `ear a bit er nooze, don`t yer ? ” ¶ “ Say what you want to say and go, ” said the woman faintly. ¶ “ I jest called in to say as I saw Tom Hardy — Mr Hardy, I should say — ( this with an elaborate assumption of defer- ence ) drivin` off in the runabout on the road to Big Hill this mornin`. S`pose yercan guess who he`s a goin` to meet there, carn`t yer ? She ain`t over at the bar of the pub, `cause I`ve just bin in there to see." ¶ This was a lie of course, but Mr. Pet- erson made a point of never telling the truth when a lie would do as well. ¶ Alice Hardy half closed her eyes, and her hand clenched on the letter as though it were the throat of the writer, ¶ “ Reckon `e won`t be `ome till ter- morrer, ” continued Peterson, watching the effect of the torture with keen en- joyment. “ It`s so nice an` quiet up there on the section. An` `e`s taken little Benny with him too. Now, ain`t that a bit too strong ? ” ¶ Again the woman shivered violently, but she answered not a word. ¶ “ Wy, ef ye had a grain of sperrit in ye, ” said the man, changing his tone and raising his voice, “ ye wudn`t take treatment the like of that from any man, whether `e calls `imself yer hus- band or not. Carn`t yer pay `im back ter rights. Ain`t yer got a fancy man of yer own, eh ? ” ¶ Peterson thrust his sinister face across the counter until it was within a few inches of the shuddering woman. ¶ “ Ef ye had the pluck of a louse, ” he said, with the savage and brutal coarse- ness of his kind, ”° “ yer wudn`t stop another hour with the man that`s bin making a fool of yer for months before the whole township. Psh ! I`m fair ashamed on yer. ” ¶ He spat on the boarded floor and shuffled out of the store cackling hid- eously. ¶ As Peterson reached the road he looked out into the western sky, and saw a moving speck in the distance. “ Black Swan, sure enough, ” he mut- tered. “ Bert Milligan `ll have it all `is own way at larst, ef he arks her to run away with `im ter-night. She won`t refuse no longer, I`ll be bound. ” And then he chuckled horribly. “ `Ope she does go, too, ” he muttered. “ It`ll be a sight worse nor a hidin` to Tom Har- dy. Anybody can see that `e`s ready to lick `er boots. An` it`ll do fer her fer ever. ” ¶ Peterson walked across the road and sat down on a handy log to await de- velopments. He took out a knife and proceeded to cut up a pipeful from his plug. ¶ “ Wish I `adn`t lost my old knife, ” he grumbled. “ Carn`t think where I cud `ave dropped it. This one won`t cut baccy fer nuts. ” ¶ As he smoked contemplatively he was an interested spectator of Bert Milli- gan´s arrival at the post office. The mailman alighted nearly in front of the building, opened the big mail box under the driving seat, and dragged out a couple of mail bags and a few brown paper parcels, which he left on the post office step while he ran the biplane round on its own wheels to the shed. Returning to the front of the building Milligan gathered up the mail bags and parcels and took them into the post office. ¶ Seated on his log on the other side of the road, Joe Peterson was devoured by curiosity. He fidgeted nervously. He could not smoke. He could not even think of anything else but this result of all his plotting. What would Bert Mil- ligan say when he found Alice in her present frame of mind, and heard her story of her husband´s shamelessness ? And what would Alice say when Bert Milligan urged her to go away with him, and it was morally certain, in Mr. Peterson´s opinion, that he would. ¶ Joe Peterson hated Alice with all that portion of his organism which should have been his heart. He hated her be- cause of her shudder of repulsion when ever he went near her. He hated her because she was a beautiful woman, while he himself was a hideous libel on humanity. He hated her because she loved her husband and now he hated her because she was alone with Bert Milligan, that black-browed, silent ad- mirer, who was so madly infatuated with her. ¶ Peterson felt a sudden wave of black rage rise up within him. He loathed Bert Milligan. He would like to kill him. And that contemptuous beauty, Alice Hardy, too. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER XIII. — “ ASK ME NO MORE. ” ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ He mentioned the matter to Pascoe, who solved the difficulty at once. “ I`ll send Jim Burn in with a message on the working car as soon as he gets back, ” he said. “ You and Benny had better stop here, and have a bit of tucker with me. We`ll see the gyro-car go through at midnight. As a matter of fact, I`ve got to see it myself, because I want to see how the bridge stands the racket. I`ll have to test it afterwards. The vi- bration must be terrific. ” ¶ As the two men walked back to the engineer´s office Pascoe spoke again in a more serious tone. ¶ “ By the way, Hardy, ” he said, “ there`s something that I want to speak to you about. I have no desire to pry into your private concerns, but Banks and I have been talking about that miraculous es- cape you had when the rope broke with you as you were swinging in to make connection with the site of the abut- ments for us. ” ¶ Tom became obstinate at once. “ I told you before, ” he said, “ that I don`t wish to reopen that subject. Let us take it that it was a pure accident. ” ¶ “ Neither Banks nor I can agree with that view, ” said Pascoe firmly, “ and we think that you should help us to sheet home that attempted murder to the guilty man. In a matter of this kind we think it is your duty to set aside your private feelings in the interests of jus- tice. ” ¶ Tom set his teeth hard and thought of the brutal insult that Peterson had offer- ed to his wife on the lonely road, and of the punishment that he himself had in- flicted on the scoundrel. Surely, to make the facts public would cause needless suffering to his wife. ¶ “ I can give you no assistance, Mr. Pascoe, ” he replied doggedly. ¶ “ Well, Hardy, ” said the engineer, “ I must tell you now that we have very strong evidence pointing to the identity of the man who made that cold-blooded attempt upon your life. A knife has been found by Kiggins in the long grass, betide the log on which I placed the coil of new Manila rope which I had just tested. Kiggins brought me that knife, which was rusty from long exposure to the weather. Careful and exhaustive in- quiry showed that it did not belong to any of our men. Quite recently we have secured proof that it was seen in pos- session of a man named Peterson on the day of the so-called accident. One of our men saw him cutting tobacco with it. ” ¶ “ That`s nothing to go on, ” said Tom, stubbornly. “ Even if it is Peterson´s knife, how does that connect him with the affair ? ” ¶ Pascoe eyed Tom Hardy sternly. “ Look, here, ” he said, “ it`s quite clear to me that you know more about this than you pretend to know. I do not, of course, understand your motive for try- ing to shield this man Peterson. It may be a most laudable one, but it is my duty to bring to justice the man who cut that rope half way through just be- fore you descended by it. I saw him my- self sitting on the coil of rope, and his knife has been found beside the spot. Banks and I are fully convinced that we have found the man, and, as a matter of fact, we have already laid information upon which a warrant has been issued for the arrest of Petersen. That warrant will be in the hands of Cassidy, the con- stable this afternoon, and it will be exe- cuted, I hope, before many hours are over. ” ¶ Tom shrugged his shoulders. Perhaps it was better after all that Peterson should he laid by the heels. Of course the whole story would come out in court, and it would be decidedly unpleasant both for Alice and himself. Still it was only justice that the brute should be punished, and, indeed, if he were not punished, there was no knowing how his next attempt might end. ¶ “ Look here, ” he said to Pascoe, “ I may as well tell you the whole story. At any rate, I have nothing to be ashamed of in my share of it. ” ¶ And he told him. ¶ Pascoe listened gravely to Tom´ re- cital of the facts — the drunken, out- rageous assault upon the unprotected woman on the lonely road to Big Hill, and the condign punishment meted out to the offender on the same evening. He heard, too, how Peterson had care- fully kept out of Hardy´s way ever since, but had occasionally visited the store and insulted Mrs. Hardy during her husband´s absence. ¶ “ He`s as good as fitted already, ” re- marked the engineer. “ It`ll be ten years for a certainty. Come along down now and have a look at the bridge. I want to see how she has stood the vibration. ” ¶ So Tom Hardy elected to keep little Benny with him and to stay with Pas- coe until the gyro-car passed back on its return trial. Jim Burn could take a message back to Alice when he arrived in the working car. ¶ But the afternoon wore on and Jim Burn came not. With flushed face and fluent tongue he sat on the verandah of the Royal Hotel recounting to Silas Weldon and Bill Blake the various dar- ing and courageus° exploits that he had achieved when he followed the hazardous occupation of a “ rigger. ” Greatly in de- mand was Jim Burn, according to his own account, wherever desperate deeds were to be done. Silas Weldon listened with a sardonic smile, and drank all the beer that Jim Burn ordered for him. As for Alf Kiggins, that worthy was already reduced to somnolence. ¶ Across the road in the store sat Alice Hardy, white-faced and with great dark rings round her eyes. At intervals she shivered violently like a person suffering from malaria. She could not find her husband. He was nowhere about the place. And the runabout was gone from the shed. She held Wilga Blake´s ill- omened letter in her hand. Whenever her eye rested for a moment on the open- ing words she shivered again. “ My own darling Tom. ” That was how another woman had written to Alice Hardy´s hus- band. ¶ Mrs. Hardy had eaten nothing since breakfast, and she had sustained a severe mental shock. She was rapidly relax- ing her grip of actualities and losing the ability to see facts in their proper per- spective, when Joe Peterson, with a malignant grin on his face, entered the store. ¶ “ Wot, all by yerself again ! ” he ob- served with boorish irony. “ Usband not come `ome yet. I thort not or I wouldn`t `ave called. ” ¶ “ What do you want ? ” said the dis- tracted woman, “ and why do you come here to insult me ? ” ¶ “ Well, I just called with a bit er noose for ye, ” said Peterson sardoni- cally, resting his two hands oh the coun- ter and pering° with his bloodshot eyes into the woman´s face. “ I knows yer always likes to `ear a bit er nooze, don`t yer ? ” ¶ “ Say what you want to say and go, ” said the woman faintly. ¶ “ I jest called in to say as I saw Tom Hardy — Mr. Hardy, I should say — ( this with an elaborate assumption of defer- ence ) drivin` off in the runabout on the road to Big Hill this mornin`. S`pose yer can guess who he`s a goin` to meet there, carn`t ye ? She ain`t over at the bar of the pub` `cause I`ve just bin in there to see. ” ¶ This was a lie of course, but Mr. Peterson made a point of never telling the truth when a lie would do as well. ¶ Alice Hardy half-closed her eyes, and her hand clenched on the letter as though it were the throat of the writer. ¶ “ Reckon `e won`t be `ome till ter-mor- rer, ” continued Peterson, watching the effect of the torture with keen enjoy- ment. “ It`s so nice an` quiet up there on the section. An` `e`s taken little Benny with him too. Now ain`t that a bit too strong ? ” ¶ Again, the woman shivered violently, but she answered not a word. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER XIII. — “ ASK ME NO MORE. ” ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ “ Wy, ef ye had a grain of sperrit in ye, ” said the man, changing his tone and raising his voice, “ ye wudn`t take treat- ment the like of that from any man, whether `e calls `imself yer husband or not. Carn`t yer pay `em back ter rights. Ain`t yer got a fancy man of yer own, eh ? ” ¶ Peterson thrust his sinister face across the counter until it was within a few inches of the shuddering woman. ¶ “ Ef ye had the pluck of a louse, ” he said, with the savage and brutal coarse- ness of his kind, “ yer wudn`t stop an- other hour with the man that`s bin mak- ing a fool of yer for months before the whole township. Pah ! I`m fair ashamed on yer. ” ¶ He spat on the boarded floor and shuffled out of the store cackling hideously. ¶ As Peterson reached the road he look- ed out into the western sky and saw a moving speck in the distance. “ Black Swan, sure enough, ” he muttered. “ Bert Milligan `ll have it all `is own way at larst, ef he arsks her to run away with `im ter-night. She won`t refuse no longer, I`ll he bound. ” And then he chuckled horribly. “ Ope she does go, too, ” he muttered. “ It`ll be a sight worse nor a hidin` to Tom Hardy. Any- body can see that `e`s ready to lick `er boots. An` it`ll do fer her fer ever. ” ¶ Peterson walked across the road and sat down on a handy log to await devel- opments. He took out a knife and pro- ceeded to cut up a pipeful from his plug. ¶ “ Wish I `adn`t lorst my old knife, ” he grumbled. “ Carn`t think where I cud `ave dropped it. This one won`t cut baccy fer nuts. ” ¶ As he smoked contemplatively he was an interested spectator of Bert Milli- gan´s arrival at the post office. The mailman alighted nearly in front of the building, opened the big mail box under the driving seat, and dragged put a couple of mail bags and a few brown- paper parcels, which he left on the post office step while he ran the bi-plane round on its own wheels to the shed. Returning to the front of the building Milligan gathered up the mail bags and parcels and took them into the post office. ¶ Seated on his log on the other side of the road Joe Peterson was devoured by curiosity. He fidgeted nervously. He could not smoke. He could not even think of anything else but this result of all his plotting. What would Bert Milligan say when he found Alice in her present frame of mind, and heard her story of her husband´s shamelessness ? And what would Alice say when Bert Milligan urged her to go away with him, as it was morally certain in Mr. Peter- son´s opinion, that he would. ¶ Joe Peterson hated Alice with all that portion of his organism which should have been his heart. He hated her be- cause of her shudder of repulsion when- ever he went near her. He hated her because she was a beautiful woman, while he himself was a hideous libel on human- ity. He hated her because she loved her husband, who had flogged him at her re- quest, and now he hated her because she was alone with Bert Milligan, that black-browed, silent admirer who was so madly infatuated with her. ¶ Peterson felt a sudden wave of black rage rise up within him. He loathed Bert Milligan. He would like to kill him. And that contemptuous beauty, Alice Hardy, too. ¶ Hastily shoving his pipe into his pock- et he crossed the road and furtively slunk to the side of the post office that looked out into Tom Hardy´s paddock. There was a little window about four feet from the ground, and it was open. It was round the angle from the front, and was not visible from the verandah of the hotel. Peterson satisfied himself on that point. He had no desire to be caught eavesdropping by old Silas Wel- don, who detested him. ¶ Crouching down so that his ear was within a few inches of the window ledge, Joe Peterson could distinctly hear every word that was uttered inside. They were speaking about him when he first took up his position. He listened un- easily while Alice Hardy told the mail- man in a voice broken by sobs how “ that squinny-eyed brute of a Peterson ” had tortured her with his uncouth in- sults twice-already that day. The list- ener shivered in spite of himself as he heard the mailman´s angry ejaculations and short, sharp interruption, “ When I have done with the ugly beast, ” said Milligan, with horrible emphasis. “ I`ll guarantee that he`ll never insult you again, Alice, nor anybody else. There`s only one thing to do to a poisonous snake like that, and I`m the man to do it. ” ¶ A chill of terror made its way down the spine of the eavesdropper, but he dared not slink away until he had heard more. He was tormented by the apprehension that Milligan might look out of the win- dow and see him, but he was afraid to escape before gaining some information as to the plans of this sombre, taciturn man, who would show him no mercy when he had laid his hands on him. ¶ Listening within a few feet of the speakers Joe Peterson heard Alice Hardy unfold the whole of her pitiful story, amid Bert Milligan´s exclamations of amazement, rage, and commiseration. ¶ “ You know better than any one else, Bert, ” she said in a shaking voice, “ that I have always loved my husband — and my child. What do you think it feels like for me to know that he is at this present moment up at Big Hill with that girl in the very house that he built ostensibly for me, and that he has ac- tually taken my little Benny with him. ” ¶ And then Bert Milligan let himself go. He fiercely cursed the lying hypo- crite who had ruined this woman´s hap- piness. He told her that there was no law of God or man that compelled her to remain under the roof of such a de- graded scoundrel. He told her that he himself had loved her from the first day that he saw her. He had learned to curb his passion lest it should lead to the wrecking of her happiness, but now that she had no longer a husband, ex- cept in name, she was justified by every instinct of her nature and by every tradition of humanity in accepting the means of escape that were available. ¶ “ Alice ! Alice ! ” pleaded the eager lover in hoarse and passion-shaken accents, “ come away with me, this very night. I will cherish you ; I will guard you and make you happy ; I will work for you and show you the world that you have never seen before — the great world waiting far from this miserable town- ship to offer you brightness, friendship. and love, and all the joy and happiness that are the due of your beauty. ” ¶ Under the spell of his passion this man, who was normally reticent self- contained, and moodily introspective, became almost inspired. Alice could hardly believe that it was the same Bert Milligan, whom she had known so long. ¶ At first she listened with a wan smile to his tempestuous pleading. She stroked his curly hair sadly. ¶ “ No, no, Bert, not that, not that. How can you ask me when you know that I have no more love left — not even the smallest bit. ” ¶ But Bert did not know it, and he re- fused to believe it. He took the hand that had stroked his hair and kissed it with fervor. He redoubled his pleading ¶ “ My oath ! ” whispered the listener to himself outside the window. “ `e can do it to rights. She`ll never be able to resist `im. ” ¶ But Alice did resist all the same. She laid bare her inmost heart to the fren- zied lover who besought her to leave the place that had been her home and to go away with him. She told Bert Milligan, with a flush that dyed her snowy cheek a sudden crimson, that there was a time when she thought a great deal too much of him — when she feared that she was beginning to love him. But that was all over long ago. She had dammed back the rising flood until it ceased to threaten, and she had found peace and happiness in her home and in her husband´s love. ¶ Bert´s lips curled with scorn. “ And your husband´s love was a lie all the time, ” he said. ¶ Alice Hardy winced at the blow, but still she stood up bravely. “ I cannot for- get that at least he loved me once, ” she said, “ and even now the thought that I have lost him seems like some hor- rible nightmare. Perhaps I may awake from it yet — and find that he has been true to me all through. ” ¶ Milligan laughed mirthlessly. “ No chance of that, Alice, ” he said. “ The letter in your hand is no nightmare, and is borne out by everything that Peterson, malignant brute though he is, has told you. ” ¶ And then he took her by both hands and looked her straight in the eyes. “ Dear ! ” he said, “ you cannot love the husband who has taken your honor and trodden it in the dust. “ Come with me. I will teach you at least — to forget. ” ¶ She wavered then. It would be sweet to forget — to lose all memory of the quiet, happy dreams and the bitter awaking to shame and sorrow. She was still oppressed by a terrible perplexity, for her heart refused to confirm the decision of her reason. Her troubled brain told her that her husband was faithless — had been faithless for many months — but her woman´s heart in the face of the clearest and most conclusive evidence of his guilt persisted in whis- pering that he loved her and had always loved her. A thousand half-forgotten touches, whispers, looks and gestures of the man who was charged with the blackest treachery, leapt vividly into re- membrance, and each separate one pro- claimed to this woman´s consciousness that he was innocent. ¶ But then there was the letter and its first insignificant introductory line. “ My own darling Tom. ” That letter, in another woman´s handwriting, found in her husband´s private safe, surely con- demned him beyond the possibility of appeal to the high court of the heart. The evidence was too strong to be set aside. ¶ Milligan looked at his watch. ¶ “ Half-past five, ” he said. “ Why isn`t your husband home now ? He is not usually so late as this. ” ¶ The words recalled to Alice Hardy´s mind the picture conjured up by Joe Peterson´s brutal sentences — a picture of Tom Hardy and Wilga Blake alone in the little house on the piece of land that was little Benny´s birthright. Her head drooped. She swayed, and as she fell forward Bert Milligan caught her in his strong arms. ¶ “ Oh, take me away, ” she moaned, “ take me away anywhere, anywhere out of this. ” ¶ “ I will, ” said Bert Milligan, as solemnly as though he were repeating a liturgical formula. ¶ And then he kissed her fairly on the lips. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER XIII. — ( Continued. ) ¶ ASK ME NO MORE. ¶ A chill of terror made its way down the spine of the eavesdropper, but he dared not slink away until he had heard more. He was torment- ted by the apprehension that Milli- gan might look out of the window and see him, but he was afraid to escape before gaining some informa- tion as to the plans of this sombre, taciturn man, who would show him no mercy when he laid his hands on him. ¶ Listening within a few feet of the speakers Joe Peterson heard Alice Hardy unfold the whole of her piti- ful story, amid Bert Milligan´s ex- clamations of amazement, rage, and commiseration. ¶ “ You know better than any one else, Bert, ” she said in a shaking voice, “ that I have always loved my husband — and my child. What do you think it feels like for me to know that he is at this present moment up at Big Hill with that girl in the very house that he built ostensibly for me, and that he has actually taken my little Benny with him. ” ¶ “ And then Bert Milligan let him- self go. He fiercely cursed the lying hypocrite who had ruined this wo- man´s happiness. He told her that there was no law of God or man that compelled her to remain under the roof of such a degraded scoun- drel. He told her that he himself had loved her from the first day that he saw her. He had learned to curb his passion lest it should lead to the wrecking of her happiness, but now that she had no longer a husband, except in name, she was justified by every instinct of her na- ture and by every tradition of humanity in accepting the means of escape that were available. ¶ “ Alice ! Alice ! ” pleaded the eager lover in hoarse and passion-shaken accents, “ come away with me, this very night. I will cherish you ; I will guard you and make you happy ;° I will work for you and show you the world that you have never seen before — the great world waiting far from this miserable township to of- fer you brightness, friendship, and love, and all the joy and happiness that are the due of your beauty. ” ¶ Under the spell of his passion this man, who was normally reticent, self-contained, and moodily intro- spective, became almost inspired. Alice could hardly believe that it was the same Bert Milligan, whom she had known so long. ¶ At first she listened with a wan smile to his tempestuous pleading. She stroked his curly hair sadly. ¶ “ No, no, Bert, not that, not that. How can you ask me when when you know that I have no more love left — not even the smallest bit. ” ¶ But Bert did not know it, and he refused to believe it. He took the hand that had stroked his hair and kissed it with fervour. He redoub- led his pleading. ¶ “ My oath, ” whispered the listener to himself outside the window, “ `e can do it to rights. She`ll never be able to resist `im. ” ¶ But Alice did resist all the same. She laid bare her inmost heart to the frenzied lover who besought her to leave the place that had been her home and to go away with him. She told Bert Milligan, with a flush that dyed her snowy cheek a sudden crimson, that there was a time when she thought a great deal too much of him — when she feared that she was beginning to love him. But that was all over long ago. She had dammed back the rising flood until it ceased to threaten, and she had found peace and happiness in her home and in her husband´s love. ¶ Bert´s lips curled with scorn. “ And your husband´s love was a lie all the time, ” he said. ¶ Alice Hardy winced at the blow, but still she stood up bravely. “ I cannot forget that at least he loved me once, ” she said, “ and even now the thought that I have lost him seems like some horrible nightmare. Perhaps I may awake from it yet — and find that he has been true to me all through. ” ¶ Milligan laughed mirthlessly. “ No chance of that, Alice, ” he said. “ The letter in your hand is no nightmare, and it is borne out by everything that Peterson, malignant brute though he is, has told you. ” ¶ And then he took her by both hands and looked her straight in the eyes. “ Dear ! ” he said, “ you cannot love the husband who has taken your honour and trodden it in the dust. Come with me. I will teach you at least — to forget. ” ¶ She wavered then. It would be sweet to forget — to lose all memory of the quiet, happy dreams and the bitter awaking to shame and sorrow. She was still oppressed by a terrible perplexity, for her heart refused to confirm the decision of her reason. Her troubled brain told her that her husband was faithless — had been faith- less for many months — but her wo- man´s heart in the face of the clearest and most conclusive evi- dence of his guilt persisted in whis- pering that he loved her and had al- ways loved her. A thousand half- forgotten touches, whispers, looks, and gestures of the man who was charged with the blackest treachery, leapt vividly into rememberance°, and each separate one proclaimed to this woman´s consciousness that he was innocent. ¶ But then there was the letter and its first significant, introductory line, “ My own darling Tom, ” That letter, in another woman´s handwrit- ing, found in her husband´s private safe, surely condemned him beyond the possibility of appeal to the high court of the heart. The evid- ence was too strong to be set aside. ¶ Milligan looked at his watch. ¶ “ Half-past five, ” he said. “ Why isn`t your husband home now ? He is not usually so late as this. ” ¶ The words recalled to Alice Har- dy´s mind the picture conjured up by Joe Peterson´s brutal sentences — a picture of Tom Hardy and Wilga Blake alone in the little house on the piece of land that was little Benny´s birthright. Her head drop- ped. She swayed, and as she fell forward Bert Milligan caught her in his strong arms. ¶ “ Oh, take me away, ” she moaned, “ take me away anywhere, anywhere out of this. ” ¶ “ I will, ” said Bert Milligan, as solomly as though he were repeating a liturgical formula. ¶ And then he kissed her fairly on the lips. ¶ CHAPTER XIV. ¶ WINGS OF JUDGMENT. ¶ When Joe Peterson realised that the discussion between Mrs Hardy and Bert Milligan was over, and that it had terminated in accord- ance with his forecast, he slipped quietly away from his position un- der the window and walked irreso- lutely towards the road. So Tom Hardy´s wife was going to run away from her home with s lover. That would be a knock down blow for Tom Hardy, when he discovered it — as bad as a death stroke, or worse, because death, at any rate, ended the capacity to feel pain, at least Joe Peterson presumed that it did. He seldom thought about such an un- pleasant thing himself. ¶ A blind rage came over him as he recalled the words of love that Bert Milligan had addressed to Alice, and heard again the final kiss that seal- ed the bargain by which poor Alice yielded herself up in return for the covenanted gift of obliterated me- mories and a new life with the past irrevocably wiped away. ¶ “ Blarst `im ! ” ejaculated Mr. Peter- son angrily, “ w`y should `e kiss `er on the lips like that ? ” ¶ Some very unpleasant memory evi- dently occurred to the mail, for he kept clenching and unclenching his hands nervously, and kicking bits of turf out of the ground with his heavy boots as he walked. ¶ As Mr. Peterson made his way across the little paddock, his squin- ny eye, roaming at large, happened to fall on Bert Milligan´s aero- plane. Black Swan was standing in an open shed, and Peterson, impelled by a vagrant impulse, moved over to inspect it. ¶ “ Blarst `im, ” he repeated, with a very disagreeable expression upon his cruel lips. “ W`y should `e go for to kiss `er like that ? ” ¶ The conundrum that he had pro- posed to himself seemed to annoy him. “ An` blarst `er, too, ” he add- ed savagely, “ I wish they was both dead. ” ¶ With this amiable aspiration he stepped up to Black Swan and ex- amined it attentively. The two pro- pellers at the rear were like darker shadows in the gathering shadow of night fall. He put his hand on the motor. It was still warm. ¶ The square box, under the driver´s seat, for the reception of bags and parcels, was closed. Peterson had often seen Bert Milligan open it. It was a spring lock. The man gave a hurried glance round the paddock. There was nobody in sight. ¶ Taking his knife out of his pocket, Peterson opened it and inserted the blade between the top of the box and the lid. He pressed the handle of the knife hard down. There was a click and the lid dropped. The box was open. ¶ The next shed to that in which the aeroplane was standing was Tom Hardy´s workshop. In the corner stood an old-fashioned weighing ma- chine in use years ago for weighing the farm produce. It was covered with rust, and so were the heavy iron weights piled up on the ground beside it. Joe Peterson peered into the shed and examined those weights with close interest. He swore a horrible oath. ¶ “ I`ll let `im know about it, ” he muttered cryptically, “° and `er too. ” ¶ With much difficulty and arduous straining he managed to drag out the largest weight, which was stam- ped “ 1 cwt. ” He hauled it along by the ring in the top, and, by levering it up with an iron bar that he pick- ed up from the tool bench, he suc- ceeded in getting it into the empty mail box. Returning to the work- shop he dragged out another ob- long mass of iron with a similar ring in the top. It was branded “ ½ cwt. ” This was easier to deal with, and Peterson quickly had it in the box beside the bigger weight. A third trip to the workshop resulted in a third weight, on which the mark “ ¼ cwt ” was just legible, being deposited with the others in the re- ceptacle provided for the mails. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER XIII. — ( Continued. ) ¶ ASK ME NO MORE. ¶ Pascoe listened gravely to Tom´s recital of the facts — the drunken out- rageous assault upon the unprotected woman on the lonely road to Big Hill, and the codign° punishment meted out to the offender on the same evening. He heard, too, how Peterson had carefully kept out of Hardy´s way ever since, but had oc- casionally visited the store and in- sulted Mrs. Hardy during her hus- ban´s absence. ¶ “ He`s as good as fitted already, ” remarked the engineer. “ It`ll be ten years for a certainty. Come along down, now and have a look at the bridge. I want to see how she has stood the vibration. ¶ So Tom Hardy elected to keep lit- tle Benny with him and to stay with Pascoe until the gyro-car passed back, on its return trip. Jim Burn could take a message, back to Alice when he arrived in the working car. ¶ But the afternoon wore on, and Jim Burn came not. With flushed face and fluent tongue he sat on the verandah of the Royal . Hotel re- counting to Silas Weldon and Bill Blake the various daring and cour- ageous exploits that he had achieved when he followed the hazardous oc- cupation of a “ rigger. ” Greatly in demand was Jim Burn, according to his own account, wherever, desperate deeds were to be done. Silas Wel- don listened, with a sardonic smile, and drank all the beer that Jim Burn ordered for him. As for Kig- gins, that worthy was already re- duced to somnolence. ¶ Across the road in the store sat Alice Hardy, white-faced and with great dark rings round her eyes. At intervals she shivered violently like a person suffering from malaria. She held Wilga Blake´s ill-omened letter in her hand. Whenever her eyes rested for a moment on the opening words she shivered again. “ My own darling Tom. ” That was how another woman had written to Alice Hardy´s husband. ¶ Mrs. Hardy had eaten nothing since breakfast, and she had sustain- ed a severe mental shock. She was rapidly relaxing her grip of actuali- ties and losing the ability to see facts in their proper perspective, when Joe Peterson, with a malig- nant grin on his face, entered the store. ¶ “ Wot, all by yerself again ! ” he ob- served with boorish irony. “ `Usband not come `ome yet. I thort not or I wouldn`t `ave called. ” ¶ “ What do you want ? ” said the distracted woman, “ and why to you come here to insult me ? ” ¶ “ Well, I just called with a bit er nooze for ye, ” said Peterson sar- donically, resting his two hands on the counter and peering with his bloodshot eyes into the woman´s face. “ I knows yer always likes to `ear a bie er nooze, don`t yer ? ” ¶ “ Say what you want to say and go, ” said the woman faintly. ¶ “ I jest called in to say as I saw Tom Hardy — Mr. Hardy, I should say — ( this with an elaborate assumption of deference ) drivin` off in the run- about on the road to Big Hill this mornin`. S`pose yer can guess who he`s a goin` to meet there, carn`t ye ? She ain`t over at the bar of the pub, `cause I`ve just bin in there to see. ” ¶ This was a lie of course, but Mr. Peterson made a point of never telling the truth when a lie would do as well. ¶ Alice Hardy half-closed her eyes and her hand clenched on the letter as though it were the throat of the writer. ¶ “ Reckon `e won`t be `ome till ter- morrer, ” continued Peterson, watch- ing the effect of the torture with keen enjoyment. “ It`s so nice an` quiet up there on the section. An` `e`s taken little Benny with him too. Now ain`t that a bit too strong ? ” ¶ Again the woman shivered violent- ly, but she answered not a word. ¶ “ Wy, ef ye had a grain of spirit in ye, ” said the man, changing his tone and raising his voice, “ ye wudn`t take treatment the like of that from any man, whether `e calls `im- self yer husband or not. Carn`t yer pay `im back ter rights. Ain`t yer got a fancy man of yer own, eh ? ” ¶ Peterson thrust his sinister face across the counter until it was within a few inches of the shudder- ing woman. ¶ “ Ef ye had the pluck of a louse, ” he said, with the savage and brutal coarseness of his kind, “ yer wudn`t stop another hour with the man that`s bin making a fool of yer for months before the whole township. Pah ! I`m fair ashamed on yer. ” ¶ He spat on the boarded floor and shuffled out of the store cackling hideously. ¶ As Peterson reached the road he looked out into the western sky and saw a moving speck in the distance. “ Black Swan, sure enough, ” he muttered. “ Bert Milligan `ll have it all `is own way at larst, ef he arsks her to run away with `im ter-night. She won`t refuse no longer, I`ll be bound. ” And then he chuckled horri- bly. “ `Ope she does go, too, ” he muttered. “ It`ll be a sight worse nor a hidin` to Tom Hardy. Any- body can see that `e`s ready to lick `er boots. An` it`ll do fer her fer ever. ” ¶ Peterson walked across the road and sat down on a handy log to await developments. He took out a knife and proceeded to cut up a pipeful from his plug. ¶ “ Wish I `adn`t lorst my old knife, ” he grumbled. “ Carn`t think where I cud `ave dropped it. This one won`t cut baccy fer nuts. ” ¶ As he smoked contemplatively he was an interested spectator of Bert Milligan´s arrival at the post office. The mailman alighted nearly in front of the building, opened the big mail box under the driving seat, and dragged out a couple of mail bags and a few brown-paper parcels, which he left on the post office step while he ran the bi-plane round on its wheels to the shed. Returning to the front of the building Milligan gathered up the mail bags and par- cels and took them into the post office. ¶ Seated on his log on the other side of the road Joe Peterson was devoured by curiosity. He fidgeted nervously. He could not smoke. He could not even think of anything else. But this result of all his plott- ing. What would Bert Milligan say when he found Alice in her present frame of mind and heard her story of her husband´s shamelessness ? And what would Alice say when Bert Milligan urged her to go away with him, as it was morally certain in Mr. Peterson´s opinion, that he would. ¶ Joe Peterson hated Alice with all that portion of his organism which should have been his heart. He hat- ed her because of her shudder of re- pulsion whenever he went near her. He hated her because she was a beautiful woman, while he himself was a hideous libel on humanity. He hated her because she loved her husband, who had flogged him at her request, and now he hated her be- cause she was alone with Bert Mil- ligan, that black-browed, silent ad- mirer who was so madly infatuated with her. ¶ Peterson felt a sudden wave of black rage rise up within him. He loathed Bert Milligan. He would like to kill him. And that contemp- tuous beauty, Alice Hardy, too. ¶ Hastily shoving his pipe into his pocket he crossed the road and fur- tively slunk to the side of the post office that looked out into Tom Hardy´s paddock. There was a lit- tle window about four feet from the ground, and it was open. It was round the angle from the front and was not visible from the verandah of the hotel. Peterson satisfied himself an that point. He had no desire to be caight° eavesdropping by old Silas Weldon, who detested him. ¶ Crouching down so that his ear was within a few inches of the window ledge, Joe Peterson could distinctly hear every word that was uttered inside. They were speaking about him when he first took up his position. He listened uneasily while Alice Hardy told the mailman in a voice broken by sobs how that squinny-eyed brute of a Joe Peter- son had tortured her with his un- couth insults twice already that day. The listener shivered in spite of himself as he heard the mailman´s angry ejaculations and short, sharp interruptions. “ When I have done with the ugly beast, ” said Milligan, with horrible emphasis, “ I`ll guar- antee that he`ll never insult you again, Alice, nor anybody else. There`s only one thing to do to a poisonous snake like that, and I`m the man to do it. ” ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ Love and the Æroplane. ¶ CHAPTER XIII. ¶ “ ASK ME NO MORE. ” ¶ Hastily shoving his pipe into his poc- ket, he crossed the road and furtively slunk to the side of the post office that looked out into Tom Hardy´s paddock. There was a little window about four feet from the ground, and it was open. It was round the angle from the front, and was not visible from the verandah of the hotel. Peterson satisfied himself on that point. He had no desire to be caught eavesdropping by old Silas Wel- don, who detested him. ¶ Crouching down so that his ear was within a few inches of the window ledge, Joe Peterosn° could distinctly hear every word that was uttered in- side. They were speaking about him when he first took up his position. He listened uneasily while Alice Hardy told the mailman in a voice broken by sobs how “ that squinny-eyed brute of a Peterson ” had tortured her with his uncouth insults twice already that day. The listener shivered in spite of him- self as he heard the mailman´s angry ejaculations and short, sharp interrup- tions. “ When I have done with the ugly beast, ” said Milligan, with hor- rible emphasis, “ I`ll guarantee that he`ll never insult you again, Alice, nor anybody else. There`s only one thing to do to a poisonous snake like that, and I`m the man to do it. ” ¶ A chill of terror made its way down the spine of the eavesdropper, but he dared not slink away until he had heard more, he was tormented by the appre- hension that Milligan might look out of the window and see him, but he was afraid to escape before gaining some in- formation as to the plans of this som- bre, taciturn man, who would show him no mercy when he laid his hands on him. ¶ Listening within a few feet of the speakers, Joe Peterson heard Alice Har- dy, unfold the whole of her pitiful story, amid Bert Milligan´s exclamations of emazement°, rage and commiseration. ¶ “ You know better than any one else, Bert, ” she said in a shaking voice, “ that I have always loved my husband — and my child. What do you think it feels like for me to know that he is at this present moment up at Big Hill with that girl in the very house that he built ostensibly for me, and that he has ac- tually taken my little Benny with him. ” ¶ And then Bert Milligan let himself go. He fiercely cursed the lying hypo- crite who had ruined this woman´s hap- pulness. He told her there was no law of God or man that compelled her to remain under the roof of such a de- graded scoundrel. He told her that he himself had loved her from the first day that he saw her. He had learned to curb his passion lest it should lead to the wrecking of her happiness, but now that she had no longer a husband, except in name, she was justified by every instinct of her nature and by every tradition of humanity in accept- ing the means of escape that were available to her. ¶ “ Alice ! Alice ! ” pleaded the eager lover in hoarse and passion-shaken ac- cents, “ come away with me, this very night. I will cherish you ; I will guard you and make you happy ; I will work for you and show you the world that, you have never seen before — the great world waiting far from this miserable township to offer you brightness, friendship, and love, and all the joy and happiness that are the due of your beauty. ” ¶ Under the spell of his passion this man, who was normally reticent, self- contained, and moodily introspective, became almost inspired. Alice could hardly believe that it was the same Bert Milligan, whom she had know so long. ¶ At first he listened with a wan smile to his tempestuous pleading. She strok- ed his curly hair sadly. ¶ “ No, no, Bert, not that, not that. How can you ask me when you know that I have no more love left — not even the smallest bit. ” ¶ But Bert did not know it, and he re- fused to believe it. He took the hand that had stroked his hair and kissed it with fervour. He redoubled his plead- ing. ¶ “ My oath ! ” whispered the listener to himself outside the window, “ `e can do it to rights. She`ll never be able to resist him. ” ¶ But Alice did resist all the same. She laid bare her inmost heart to the fren- zied lover who besought her to leave the place that had been her home and to go away with him. She told Bert Milli- gan, with a flush that dyed her snowy, cheek a sudden crimson, that there was a time when she thought a great deal too much of him — when she feared that she was beginning to love him. But that was all over long ago. She had dammed back the rising flood until it ceased to threaten, and she had found peace and happiness in her home and in her husband´s love. ¶ Bert´s lips curled with scorn. “ And your husband´s love was a lie all the time, ” he said. ¶ Alice Hardy winced at the blow, but still she stood up bravely, “ I can- not forgot that at least he loved me once, ” she said, “ and even now the thought that I have lost him seems like some horrible nightmare. Perhaps I may awake from it yet — and find that he has been true to me all through. ” ¶ Milligan laughed mirthlessly. “ No chance of that, Alice, ” he said. “ The letter in your hand is no nightmare, and it is borne out by everything that Peterson, malignant brute though he is, has told you. ” ¶ And then he took her by both hands and looked her straight in the eyes. “ Dear ! ” he said, “ you cannot love the husband who has taken you honour and trodden it in the dust. Come with me. I will teach you at least — to forget. ” ¶ She wavered then. It would be sweet to forget — to lose all memory of the quiet, happy dreams and the bitter awaking to shame and sorrow. She was still oppressed by a terrible perplexity, for her heart refused to confirm the de- cision of her reason. Her troubled brain told her that her husband was faithless — had been faithless for many months — but her woman´s heart in the face of the clearest and most conclu- sive evidence of his guilt persisted in whispering that he loved her and had always loved her. A thousand half- forgotten touches, whispers, looks, and gestures of the man who was charged with the blackest treachery, leapt vivid- ly into remembrance, and each separate one proclaimed to this woman´s con- sciousness that he was innocent. ¶ But then there was the letter and its first significant introductory line, “ My own darling Tom. ” That letter, in her husband´s private safe, surely condemn- ed him beyond the possibility of appeal to the high court of her heart. The evi- dence was too strong to be set aside. ¶ Milligan looked at his watch. ¶ “ Half-past five, ” he said. “ Why isn`t your husband home now ? He is not usually so late as this. ” ¶ The words recalled to Alice Hardy´s mind the picture conjured up by Joe Peterson´s brutal sentences — a picture of Tom Hardy and Wilga Blake alone in the little house on the piece of land that was little Benny´s birthright. Her head dropped. She swayed, and as she fell forward Bert Milligan caught her in his strong arms. ¶ “ Oh, take me away, ” she moaned, “ take me away anywhere, anywhere out of this. ” ¶ “ I will, ” said Bert Milligan, as solemnly as though he were repeating a liturgical formula. ¶ And then he kissed her fairly on the lips. ¶ CHAPTER XIV. ¶ WINGS OF JUDGMENT. ¶ When Joe Peterson realised that the discussion between Mrs. Hardy and Bert Milligan was over, and that it had terminated in accordance with his fore- cast, he slipped quietly away from his position under the window and walked irresolutely towards the road. So Tom Hardy´s wife was going to run away from her home with a lover. That would be a knock-down blow for Tom Hardy, when he discovered it — as bad as a death stroke, or worse, because death, at any rate, ended the capacity to feel pain, at least Joe Peterson pre- sumed that it did. He seldom thought about such an unpleasant thing him- self. ¶ A blind rage came over him as he re- called the words of love that Bert Mil- ligan had addressed to Alice, and heard again the final kiss that sealed the bar- gain by which poor Alice yielded her- self up in return for the covenanted gift of obliterated memories and a new life with the past irrevocably wiped away. ¶ “ Blarst `im ! ” ejaculated Mr. Peter- son angrily, “ Why should `e kiss `er on the lips like that ? ” ¶ Some very unpleasant memory evid- ently occurred to the man, for he kept clenching and unclenching his hands nervously, and kicking bits of turf out of the ground with his heavy boots as he walked. ¶ As Mr. Peterson made his way across the little paddock, his squinny eye, roaming at large, happened to fall on Bert Milligan´s aeroplane. Black Swan was standing in a open shed, and Pet- erson, impelled by a vagrant impulse, moved over to inspect it ¶ “ Blarst `im, ” he repeated, with a very disagreeable expression upon his cruel lips. “ Why should `e go for to kiss `er like that ? ” ¶ The conundrum that he had proposed to himself seemed to annoy him. “ An` blarst `er, too, ” he added savagely. “ I wish they were both dead. ” ¶ With this amiable aspiration he step- ped up to Black Swan and examined it attentively. The two propellers at the rear were like darker shadows in the gathering shadow of nightfall. He put his hand on the motor. It was still warm. ¶ The square box under the driver´s seat, for the reception of bags and par- cels, was closed. Peterson had often seen Bert Milligan open it. It was a spring lock. The man gave a hurried glance round the paddock. There was nobody in sight. ¶ Taking his knife out of his pocket, Peterson opened it, and inserted the blade between the top of the box and the lid. He pressed the handle of the knife hard down. There was a click, and the lid dropped. The box was open. ¶ The next shed to that in which the aeroplane was standing was Tom Har- dy´s workshop. In the corner stood an old-fashioned weighing machine in use years ago for weighing the farm pro- duce. It was covered with rust, and so were the heavy iron weights piled up on the ground beside it. Joe Peterson peered into the shed and examined those weights with close interest. He swore a terrible oath. ¶ “ I`ll let `im know about it, ” he muttered cryptically, “ and `er, too. ” ¶ With much difficulty and arduous straining he managed to drag out the largest weight, which was stamped one cwt. He hauled it along by the ring in the top, and, by levering it up with an iron bar, that he picked up from the tool bench, he succeeded in getting it into the empty mail box. Returning to the workshop he dragged out another oblong mass of iron with a similar ring in the top. It was branded ½ cwt. This was easier to deal with, and Pet- erson quickly had it in the box beside the bigger weight. A third trip to the workshop resulted in a third weight, on which the mark ¼ cwt. was just leg- ible, being deposited with the others in the receptacle provided for the mails. ¶ Joe Peterson surveyed his work with a leer of satisfaction. Then he slam- med the lid sharply, and the click told him that the lock had caught. ¶ “ I reckon Bert won`t `ave such a pleasant honeymoon trip, after all, ” said the skulker to himself under his breath. “ `E`ll be carrying clost on two `undred pounds overweight wot `e won`t know nothin` about, besides `is lady passenger. Shudn`t wonder ef Black Swan were to give `im a bit of a buster ter-night. An`, strike me, if I don`t `ope it will, too. ” ¶ Having uttered that kindly hope, Mr. Peterson walked away from the shed, still muttering to himself. He was quite unaware that he had been noted leaving the shed by the hilarous° Mr. Burn, who enjoyed a view of the place where Mil- ligan always kept the aerplane°. Mr. Burn sat on Bill Blake´s verandah, and the verandah, as has already been ex- plained, commanded the aeroplane´s shed. ¶ “ Whatsh that dirty schallywag of a Peterson doin` in Tomardi´s pad- dochsk° ? ” inquired Mr. Burn, endeav- ouring to stand up, but falling back at once upon the comparative security of the wooden bench. Nobody answered him. Alf. Kiggins was incapable of taking the most perfunctory interest in surrounding events, and Silas Waldon° regarded Peterson´s movements as alto- gether beneath his notice. ¶ Jim Burn had spent practically the whole day in the congenial occupation of pouring liquor into himself. Occa- sionally he vaguely remembered that Mr. Pascoe expected him to be back at the bridge sometime during the after- noon, but another glass usually had the desired effect of making him forget all such unpleasant considerations, at any rate, for a time. ¶ “ Shee that d——d shcallywag of a Peterson, ” remarked Mr. Pascoe´s usu- ally most respectable foreman, as he dug Mr. Weldon in the ribs with his huge thumb, “ well, `e ain`t upterno- good, you mark my wordsh. ” ¶ “ Keep your mouth fer drinkin`, Jim, ” said Mr. Weldon, kindly, “ It ain`t no use fer talkin` sense. ” ¶ “ Setemupagin, boss, ” roared Jim Burn, banging his heavy glass on the bench beside him, and Bill Blake there- upon appeared from the interior with a tray already loaded with mugs of his slow poison. He was obliged to do all the work himself that afternoon be- cause Wilga had gone to lie down. She had a bad nervous headache. Most in- considerate of her. ¶ By this time Joe Peterson was close to the hotel. The indications of festive hilarity on the verandah allured him. Possibly somebody might offer to shout for him. ¶ “ Wotsh you bin doin` over in Tom- ardi´s paddocksh, you d—— d schally- wag ? ” bellowed Jim Burn, rising to his feet with great difficulty, and pre- serving his balance by holding on to the verandah post. ¶ Joe Peterson´s knees trembled under him. For an instant he thought that the intoxicated foreman must have seen him tampering with the aeroplane. A moment´s reflection, however, showed him that his fear must be unfounded, and he decided to brazen it out. ¶ “ You`re seein` double, Mr. Fore- man, ” he replied pleasantly. “ Best let up on th` booze an` you won`t see so much. ” ¶ “ Seein` double, am I, you squinny- eyed `ound ? ” roared Mr. Burn, who never forgot that he was a disciplinar- ian and accustomed to handling men even when he was drunk. “ I`ve seen a dam sight too much for you, let me tell you that. Come, now, wot was you a doin` in that paddock ? ” ¶ “ Grazin´, of course, ”retorted Pet- erson provocatively, but he began to feel a horrible dread of this drunken blusterer. “ Ain`t yer oging° to shout me a beer ? ” he added, just to show that he was not in the least afraid. ¶ But Jim Burn let the request pass un- noticed. He appeared to be wrestling with some profound problem, and the outward and visible signs of intoxi- cation diminished with marvellous ra- pidity. He became almost unnaturally quiet. ¶ “ Jest come along `ere for a minute, mate, an` `ave a bit of a pitch an` a smoke, ” he said at last. ¶ There was something about the man that Joe Peterson could not fathom, and he considered that a few minutes might be well spent in getting to the bottom of the enigma. He was conscious that there were buried incidents in his car- eer — and even recent incidents — which would not bear exhumation. ¶ “ Right-ho, ” he remarked, with a poor assumption of cheerfulness, and sat down next to Mr. Weldon, who at once got up and walked to the far end of the verandah. ¶ “ Thatsh orl right, ” observed Mr. Burn, taking out his pipe and plug of tobacco, “ now we`re gettin` along com- fortable. ” He searched his pockets one after another for something that apparently wasn`t there. ¶ “ Gotter knife about yer ? ” he said to Peterson. “ I`ve lorst mine. ” ¶ Peterson produced a common, cheap knife from his pocket and handed it to Jim Burn. The foreman took it and ex- amined it carefully, opening both blades and trying them on his thumb nail. ¶ “ `Tain`t mush of a knife, is it ? ” he remarked deprecatingly. ¶ “ No, it ain`t, ” said Peterson, sullen- ly. “ I `ad a better one, but I lorst it. ” ¶ “ Wot sort of a knife might it have been ? ” asked Jim Burn, whoes° eyes had acquired a dangerous gleam. ¶ “ Wot`s that to you ? ” retorted Joe Peterson, who began to smell trouble. ¶ “ Was it a black `andled, two-bladed knife, with the name of the maker, Rodgers, Sheffield, stamped on both blades ? ” cried Jim Burn, with a threa- tening ring in his voice. ¶ “ Well, supposing it was ? ” replied Joe Peterson, now thoroughly frighten- ed. “ Wot of it ? ” ¶ “ Nothin` much, ” said Mr. Burn, very quietly, but looking Joe Peterson straight in the eyes, “ except thar w`ve found a knife like that up at our camp, and we reckon it`s been used for cut- tin` rope. ” ¶ He paused and looked round signifi- cantly amid the wondering glances of Bill Blake and old Weldon. ¶ “ There`s a warrant out, Mr. Scally- wag, ” he added, “ for the arrest of the owner of that there knife, an` if ye knows where `e is ye`d better tell `im to clear, or, like as not, the next thing `ll be another rope, round his neck this time, and no knife `andy to cut it with. ¶ But Joe Peterson had heard quite enough. He left Bill Blake´s licensed premises quicker than he had ever left them in his life before. So his secret had become known after all. He would have to get away from Waratah Valley at once and for ever if he did not want to renew his acquaintance with the in- side of a penal establishment for a long term of years. And if anything happened to the driver or passenger of Black Swan as the result of the loading — if either of them was killed — well, it might mean something worse even than imprisonment for him. Joe Peterson broke out into a cold sweat as he ran on. He was not a courageous criminal. It was drak° by this time, but the moon was rising, and he rapidly revolved plans of escape while he got away as fast as possible from the net that was being made ready to involve him. ¶ He determined to make for Big Hill by the road and thence through the bush to Bottlebrush, where he could board the monorail, and, with a bit of luck as a stowaway, he might be at Port Darwin in less than twenty-four hours. It was hardly likely that Mr. Cassidy would follow him as fast as that. Pet- erson rapidly calculated his chances, panting as he ran. Once at Bottlebrush he would be all right. The cross-coun- try monorail would take him to Moss Vale, where he could board the trans- continental from Sydney to Port Au- gusta. Moss Vale to Port August°, seven hundred miles ; Port August° to Port Darwin, fourteen hundred miles. That would be two thousand one hun- dred miles — just twenty-one hours by the transcontinentals, which averaged a hundred miles an hour, though he had seen in the newspapers that the gyro- mail to the Territory did as much as a hundred and fifty miles an hour through the Central Australian Desert. ¶ The thought of travelling at a speed of one hundred and fifty miles an hour away from Waratah Valley, and from the accusing voice of Jim Burn cheer- ed the panting fugitive momentarily. But his immediate plight was distress- ing. How could he find his way through the bush to Bottlebrush, fifty miles off ? He began to feet hungry already. How pleasant it would be to break into Tom Hardy´s little empty house on the sec- tion with an axe and get food ! ¶ It was a bright moonlight night, and, as Peterson stumbled along, curs- ing the Hardy´s°, Bert Milligan, and Jim Burn as the authors of his misfortunes he saw the road curving away in front of him, every log and boulder at the side clearly outlined in the brilliant light. Glancing up at the moon he be- came aware of a dark object, apparent- ly a large bird, overhauling him and keeping immediately above his head. Very soon he heard a too familiar hum- ming, and realised with a sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach that it was Cassidy in his monoplane. Jim Burn said that Cassidy had a warrant for his arrest ! ¶ The terrifying truth was clear. Cas- sidy was out after him. It was neces- sary for him to escape arrest at all hazards. Then began one more scene in that eternal drama which Nature stages in her remotest solitudes, and also, though less conspicuously, in the busy haunts of men — the drama of the pur- suer and the pursued. The instinct of self-preservation came out in Joe Peter- son potent in incentives to cunning ex- pedients, while the primeval instinct of the chase urged Cassidy, soaring aloft in his monoplane, to redoubled vigil- ance. ¶ Peterson guessed that Cassidy had not yet seen him, but if he stayed on the road his discovery was certain. Fortunately for him he was already close to the lower slopes of Big Hill. If he could only reach the timber that af- forded splendid cover he would be safe. He dashed through the fence and made for cover with the instinct of a hare in front of greyhound. There was a thick patch of scrub only a hundred yards away. Peterson reached it and flung himself into the undergrowth. His breath came in quirk sobs. He lay face downwards in the kindly scrub that even the moonlight could not pene- trate. But had Cassidy seen him or not ? That was the agonising doubt that did nmore° than all his exertions to make his heart thump so terribly. ” ¶ As a matter of fact Cassidy was so intent upon methodically searching the road immediately beneath him that he did not see the frantic dash for cover by the fugitive in front. He descended to within thirty feet of the road and patrolled it systematically. The trooper was still the victim of his own past training. The “ beat ” habit was strong upon him. He had ascertained at the hotel that Peterson had taken the Big Hill road, and he calculated that the arrest would be an easy task. ¶ However, after examining the road carefully right up to the gate of Tom {Hardy´s birthright section and back} nearly to the township, Mr. Cassidy de- cided to make a wide east, with the ob- ject of picking up the lost scent. He rose to one hundred feet, and flew slow- ly over the open country on the left side of the road. Every tree stood out with vivid clearness in the moonlight. Then descending to thirty feet above the ground he scrutinised each object closely. Peterson held his breath as the monoplane passed slowly over the dense patch of scrub that sheltered him. So might some wild creature of the bush lie panting while its enemy, the eagle hawk, sailed over it, questing for prey. ¶ Cassidy was frankly puzzled. ¶ “ Bedad, `tis a quare thing intirely, where that shpalpeen hov hid himself, ” he ruminated. “ Annyway he`ll be cliv- er if he gets away from me an` the jig- ger this night. He can`t hov reached the big timber yit, an` I cud see a fly washin` its face in the open. ” ¶ As the trooper worked back towards the township Peterson reconnoitred his position. A couple of hundred yards away from his patch of scrub was a big log. It looked as if it might be hollow. A hundred yards further was the edge of the tall timber. Once he could reach the tall timber he would be safe. It was so thick that no aeroplanist could possibly manoeuvre his machine in it. ¶ When the monoplane was a couple of miles away towards the township Peter- son made his dash, running in a crouch- ing position with his head well down so as to present the smallest possible sur- face to the eye of an observer behind him. He reached the log, and, to his rapture, found that it was hollow and also roomy. Crawling inside he was per- fectly safe from detection by an aerial observer. It was ideal cover. But as he regained his breath after his dash the fugitive reflected that he could not possibly stay where he was. Hunger prompted him to make for the house on the birthright section as soon as pos- sible. And so the imperative necessity of finding food drove him from his posi- tion of security into fresh dangers, as the same necessity has driven so many myriads of nature´s creatures in all the ages. ¶ Creeping from the hollow log, Joe Peterson peered cautiously into the moonlit sky with his squinny eye, and located the monoplane a few hundred yards away, and immediately behind him on his line of flight. It was dan- gerously near, but hunger was gnawing at him. He crept cautiously from the log and wriggled forward on his stom- ach towards the big timber. ¶ A wild yell out of the moonlit sky told him that he was discovered. He rose to his feet and ran. Looking back over his shoulder he saw the monoplane overhauling him at an uncredible pace. It was tearing along at full speed, fifty feet from the ground, and the booming of the propellers was terrifying. ¶ “ Stand, or I`ll fire ! ” ¶ The words rang out sharp and clear, but Joe Peterson, with head bent for- ward, sped on for very life. Bang ! bang ! bang ! The bullets cut the earth all round him, but he never thought of stopping. Cassidy emptied his revol- ver without making a single hit. To shoot straight from that swaying, swooping, air machine was impossible. The last bullet nicked a bit of bark from a tall blackbutt as Joe Peterson dashed past it and vanished into the tall shadows that filled the narrow pas- sages and mazy pathways of the big bush. ¶ “ Bedad, I`ll show him yit ! ” said Cas- sidy through his teeth, as he brought the monoplane to earth with a jarring crash just outside the big timber, and disappeared on foot into the labyrinth of tall trees loading his revolver as he ran. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ CHAPTER XIII. — “ ASK ME NO MORE. ” ¶ Events moved rapidly that day at the store and post office. ¶ In the first place Tom Hardy — whist- ling gaily over his work, while little Benny danced round asking intermin- able questions — screwed up the last nut upon the last bolt of the little electric car. He had bought the motor in Syd- ney, and had made the little carriage himself. After a long morning´s work he had completed the adjustments and little Benny was in raptures. ¶ Nothing would do but that they must have a trial trip at once. So Benny was hoisted into the driving seat and the car made the circuit of the paddock, while Benny manipulated the steering wheel like the true son of his extreme- ly handy father. ¶ “ Do let`s have a go on the road, dad, ” shouted Benny in an ecstacy of excite- ment, and Tom, who never could resist his small son anything, at once consent- ed. He pulled his own car out of the shed, piloted Benny through the gate, and started off at a fair speed on the road to Big Hill. ¶ Benny shrieked with glee as the little car bumped along on its solid tyres in the wake of the runabout. ¶ “ Let her go, Gallagher ! ” yelled the urchin, and Gallagher, in the person of Tom Hardy, did let her go with such good will that they were six miles from home before they slowed down. ¶ “ Come along, Benny, ” said Tom, “ we may as well go on to the section now. There`s a bit of tucker up at the house, and we`ll have lunch there. ” ¶ Never had Benny enjoyed a picnic so much. Tom produced biscuits and sar- dines from a cupboard, and they took their simple meal in the shade of the solitary blue gum, which Tom called “ the tree of destiny. ” Its tall trunk shot up into the sky, and its spreading branches made a grateful shade for the father and son who had once found re- fuge and safety on its boughs. ¶ When the meal was finished Hardy took little Benny by the hand and strolled through the slip panel leading to the railway land that ran down to Ryan´s Leap. On the way he met Mr. Pascoe, who welcomed him warmly. ¶ “ She looks fine, doesn`t she ? ” remark- ed Pascoe, fixing his gaze on the bridge that spanned the abyss. The steel tubes bolted together from the abutments on each side to the central hinge made a span with a beautiful long low arch, and along the top of the concrete-filled steel troughing the single broad line of the monorail gleamed in the sun. The bridge with its footway beside the single rail had a width of no more than four feet at the top. ¶ “ Looks narrow, doesn`t, she ? ” said Tom. ¶ “ She`s more than wide enough for the work, ” replied Pascoe. “ You can see the gyro-car herself has a width over all of eighteen feet, and she overhangs the bridge on both sides. Goes across like a man on a tight rope — but a bit faster. You`re in luck to be up here to-day. The Chief Commissioner is running a trial trip from Bottlebrush this afternon°. She`ll be here directly. It`ll be a sight not to miss, too. She`s to go through at an average speed of a hundred and ten miles an hour, though they reckon that they can get a hundred and fifty miles an hour out of her with perfect safety. ¶ “ Good lord ! Is she going to cross the bridge at a speed of a hundred and ten miles an hour ? ” ¶ “ Sure thing. You`ll have to keep your eyes open to see her at all. ” Mr. Pascoe took his note book and pencil from his pocket and jotted down a few figures. ¶ “ The gyro-car will be travelling at a hundred and ten miles an hour, and the bridge is exactly two hundred feet long. Therefore she`ll be just a shade over one second in crossing it. ” ¶ As Pascoe finished speaking a faint humming sound could be heard in the distance. It grew steadily louder and louder! ¶ “ Here she comes, ” ejaculated Pascoe excitedly. ¶ The humming grew to a low roar. ¶ “ She`s nearing the entrance to the tunnel now. The wind`s this way. That`s why we can hear her so plainly. She`s about five miles away, I judge. Two and a half minutes before we see her. ” ¶ Pascoe held his watch in his hand, and presently the low roar was deadened as though some; mighty hand had wrapped the distant lion´s head in a blanket. ¶ “ She`s just entered the tunnel, ” said Pascoe rapidly. “ It`s exactly a mile long, and she fits it with scarcely a foot of clearance on each side. You`ll see her in thirty seconds." ¶ The muffled roar increased in volume. The lion was making a frantic effort to get his head out of the blanket. Pascoe counted off the seconds. “ Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine. Now ! ” ¶ As he uttered the word something flashed in the dark mouth of the tun- nel. The muffled roar changed to the ringing clangor of steel upon steel, and the gyro-car shot across the chasm like a huge projectile, and vanished in the broad pathway cut for its track through the thick timber on the flanks of Big Hill. In four minutes it would be at Waratah Valley. ¶ Little Benny clapped his hands vigor- ously, while Tom Hardy rubbed his eyes as he looked at the bridge. The gyro- car had passed so quickly that its ap- pearance conveyed the effect of a mo- mentary hallucination. But the bridge with its hollow steel tubes proclaimed aloud the actuality of the occurrence. It was ringing like a tuning fork. ¶ “ She`s to start back at midnight for Bottlebrush, ” said Pascoe quietly. “ Dick Barr, who has been driving the western monorail mail since the track was opened, is in charge. They brought him down on purpose for this trip just to see what speed he can get out of her. He told Mr. Banks that he expected to do the fifty-mile run to-night in twenty minutes — that`s at an average speed of a hundred and fifty miles an hour. It`s worth while stopping to see her go through. ” ¶ Tom thought of Wilga´s letter that he had left in the office safe. He had promised to deliver it to Broughton at once. Still, surely it could wait. A day more or less would make no difference to Wilga and her erratic admirer. Then he thought of Alice. It was a great nuisance that he had been too busy to fix up the wireless telephone yet. He would have to let his wife know some- how or other, that he would be late home. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER XIV. — WINGS OF JUDG- MENT. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ “ Grazin`, of course, ” retorted Peter- son provocatively, but he began to feel a horrible dread of this drunken blus- terer. “ Ain`t yer going to shout me a beer ? ” he added, just to show that he was not in the least afraid. ¶ But Jim Burn let the request pass un- noticed. He appeared to be wrestling with some profound problem, and the outward and visible signs of intoxication diminished with marvellous rapidity. He begame° almost unnaturally quiet. ¶ “ Jest come along `ere fer a minute, mate, an` have bit of a pitch an` a smoke, ” he said at last. ¶ There was something about the man that Joe Peterson could not fathom, and he considered that a few minutes might be well spent in getting to the bottom of the enigma. He was conscious that there were buried incidents in his career — and even recent incidents — which would not bear exhumation. ¶ “ Right-ho, ” he remarked with a poor assumption of cheerfulness, and sat down next to Mr. Weldon, who at once got up and walked to the far end of the verandah. ¶ “ Thatsh orl right, ” observed Mr. Burn, taking out his pipe and plug of tobacco, “ now we`re gettin` along comfortable. ” He searched his pockets one after an- other for something that apparently wasn`t there. ¶ “ Gotter knife about yer ? ” he said to Peterson. “ I`ve lorst mine. ” ¶ Peterson produced a common cheap knife from his pocket and handed it to Jim Burn. The foreman took it and ex- amined it carefully, opening both blades and trying them on his thumb nail. ¶ “ `Tain`t much of a knife, is it ? ” he remarked deprecatingly. ¶ “ No, it ain`t, ”said Peterson sullenly, “ `I `ad a better one, but I lorst it. ” ¶ “ Wot sort of a knife might it have been ? ” asked Jim Burn, whose eyes had acquired a dangerous gleam. ¶ “ Wot`s that to you ? ” retorted Joe Peterson, who began to smell trouble. ¶ “ Was it a black `andled, two-bladed knife, with the name of the Maker, Rodgers, Sheffield, ’ stamped on both blades ? ” cried Jim Burn, with a threat- ening ring in his voice. ¶ “ Well, supposin` it was ? ” replied Joe Peterson, now thoroughly frightened, “ wot of it ? ” ¶ “ Nothin` much, ” said Mr. Burn very quietly, but looking Joe Peterson straight in the eyes, “ except that we`ve found a knife like that up at our camp, and we reckon it`s been used for cuttin` rope. ” ¶ He paused and looked round signifi- cantly amid the wondering glances of Bill Blake and old Weldon. ¶ “ There`s a warrant out, Mr. Scally- wag, ” he added, “ or the arrest of the owner of that there knife, an` if ye knows where `e is ye`d better tell `im to clear, or, like as not, the next thing `ll be an- other rope, round his neck this time, and no knife `andy to cut it with. ” ¶ But Joe Peterson had heard quite enough. He left Bill Blake´s licensed premises quicker than he had ever left them in his life before. So his secret had become known after all. He would have to get away from Waratah Valley at once and for ever if he did not want to renew his acquaintance with the in- side of a penal establishment for a long term of years. And if anything happen- ed to the driver or passenger of “ Black Swan ” as the result of the loading — if either of them was killed — well, it might mean something worse even than im- prisonment for him. Joe Peterson broke out info a cold sweat as he ran on. He was not a courageous criminal. It was dark by this time, but the moon was ris- ing, and he rapidly revolved plans of escape while he got away as fast as pos- sible from the net that was being made ready to involve him. ¶ He determined to make for Big Hill by the road and thence through the bush to Bottlebrush, where he could board the monorail, and, with a bit of luck as a stowaway, he might be at Port Darwin in less than twenty-four hours. It was hardly likely that Mr. Cassidy would fol- low him as far as that. Peterson rapidly calculated his chances, panting as he ran. Once at Bottlebrush he would be all right. The cross-country monorail would take him to Moss Vale, where he could board the transcontinental from Sydney to Port Augusta. Moss Vale to Port Augusta, seven hundred miles ; Port Augusta to Port Darwin, fourteen hundred miles. That would be two thousand and hundred miles — just twenty-one hours by the transcontinen- tals, which averaged a hundred miles an hour, though he had seen in the news- papers that the gyro-mail to the Terri- tory did as much as a hundred and fifty miles an hour through the Central Aus- tralian Desert. ¶ The thought of travelling at a speed of one hundred and fifty miles an hour away from Waratah Valley, and from the accusing voice of Jim Burn cheered the panting fugitive momentarily. But his immediate plight was distressing. How could he find his way through the bush to Bottlebrush, fifty miles off ? He be- gan to feel hungry already. How plea- sant it would be to break into Tom Hardy´s little empty house on the sec- tion with an axe and get food ! ¶ It was a bright moonlight night, and, as Peterson stumbled along cursing the Hardys, Bert Milligan and Jim Burn as the authors of his misfortunes he saw the road curving away in front of him, every log and very boulder at the side clearly outlined in the brilliant light. Glancing up at the moon he became aware of a dark object, apparently a large bird, rapidly overhauling him and keeping immediately above the road. Very soon he heard a too familiar hum- ming, and realised with a sickening sen- sation in the pit of his stomach that it was Cassidy in his monoplane. Jim Burn said that Cassidy had a warrant for his arrest ! ¶ The terrifying truth was clear. Cas- sidy was out after him. It was neces- sary for him to escape arrest at all hazards. Then began one more scene in that eternal drama which Nature stages in her remotest solitudes, and also, though less conspicuously, in the busy haunts of men — the drama of the pursuer and the pursued. The instinct of self-preservation came out in Joe Peterson potent in incentives to cun- ning expedients, while the primeval in- stinct of the chase urged Cassidy, soar- ing aloft in his monoplane, to redoubled vigilance. ¶ Peterson guessed that Cassidy had not yet seen him, but if he stayed on the road his discovery was certain. For- tunately for him he was already close to the lower slopes of Big Hill. If he could only reach the heavy timber that afforded splendid cover he would be safe. He dashed through the fence and made for cover with the instinct of a hare in front of a greyhound. There was a thick patch of scrub only a hundred yards away. Peterson reached it and flung himself into the undergrowth. His breath came in quick sobs. He lay face downwards in the kindly scrub that even the moonlight could not penetrate. But had Cassidy seen him or not ? That was the agonising doubt that did more than all his exertion to make his heart thump so horribly. ¶ As a matter of fact, Cassidy was so intent upon methodically searching the road immediately beneath him that he did not see the frantic dash for cover by the fugitive in front. He descended to within thirty feet of the road and patrolled it systematically. The trooper was still the victim of his own past train- ing. The “ beat ” habit was strong upon him. He had ascertained at the hotel that Peterson had taken the Big Hill road, and he calculated that the arrest would be an easy task. ¶ However, after examining the road carefully right up to the gate of Tom Hardy´s birthright section and back nearly to the township, Mr. Cassidy decided to made a wide cast with the object of picking up the lost scent. He rose to one hundred feet and flew slowly over the open country on the left side of the road. Every tree stood out with vivid clearness in the moonlight. Then descending to thirty feet above the ground he scrutinised each object close- ly. Peterson held his breath as the monoplane passed slowly over the dense patch of scrub that sheltered him. So might some wild creature of the bush lie panting while it enemy, the eage°- hawk, sailed ver° it, questing for prey. ¶ Cassidy was frankly puzzled. ¶ “ Bedad,`tis a quare thing intirely, where that shpalpeen hov hid himself, ” he ruminated. “ Annyway he`ll be cliver if he gets away from me an` the jigger this night. He can`t hov reached the big timber yit, an` I cud see a fly wash- in` its face in the open. ” ¶ As the trooper worked back towards the township, Peterson reconnoitred his position. A couple of hundred yards away from his patch of scrub was a big log. It looked as if it might be hol- low. A hundred yards further was the edge of the tall timber. Once he could reach the tall timber he would be safe. It was so thick that no aeroplanist could possibly manoeuvre his machine in it. ¶ When the monoplane was a couple of miles away towards the township Peter- son made his dash, running in a crouch- ing position with his head well down so as to present the smallest possible sur- face to the eye of an observer behind him. He reached the log, and, to his rapture, found that it was hollow and also roomy. Crawling inside he was per- fectly safe from detection by an aerial observer. It was ideal cover. But as he regained his breath after his dash the fugitive reflected that he could not possibly stay where he was. Hunger prompted him to make for the house on the birthright section as soon as possible. And so the imperative necessity of find- ing food drove him from his position of security into fresh dangers, as the same necessity has driven so many myriads of nature´s creatures in all the ages. ¶ Creeping from the hollow log Joe Peterson peered cautiously into the moonlit sky with his squinny eye, and located the monoplane a few hundred yards away, and immediately behind him on his line of flight. It was dangerously near, but hunger was gnawing at him. He crept cautiously from the log and wrigged° forward on his stomach towards the big timber. ¶ A wild yell out of the moonlit sky told him that he was discovered. He rose to his feet and ran. Looking back over his shoulder he saw the monoplane overhaul- ing him at an incredible pace. It was tearing along at full speed, fifty feet from the ground, and the booming of the propellers was terrifying. ¶ “ Stand or I`ll fire ! ” ¶ The words rang out sharp and clear, but Joe Peterson, with head bent for- ward sped on for very life. Bang ! bang ! bang ! The bullets cut the earth all round him, but he never thought of stopping. Cassidy emptied his revolver without making a single hit. To shoot straight from that swaying, swooping air-machine was impossible. The last bullet nicked a bit of bark from a tall blackbutt as Joe Peterson dashed past it and vanished into the tall shadows that filled the narrow passages and mazy pathways of the big bush. ¶ “ Bedad, I`ll hov him yit ! ” said Cas- sidy through his teeth as he brought the monoplane to earth with a jarrish crash just outside the big timber, and disap- peared on foot into the labyrinth of tall trees loading his revolver as he ran. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER XIV. — ( Continued ). ¶ Joe Peterson surveyed his work with a leer of satisfaction. Then he slammed the lid sharply, and the the click told him that the lock had caught. ¶ “ I reckon Bert won`t `ave such a pleasant honeymoon trip, after all, ” said the skulker to himself under his breath. “ `E`ll be carrying clost on two `undred pounds overweight wot `e won`t know nothin` about , be- sides `s lady passenger. Shudn`t wonder ef Black Swan were to give `im a bit of a buster ter-night. An` strike me, if I don`t `ope it will, too. ” ¶ Having uttered that kindly hope Mr. Peterson walked quickly away from the shed, still muttering to himself. He was quite unaware that he had been noted when leaving the shed by the hilarious Mr. Burn, who enjoyed a view of the place where Milligan always kept the aeroplane. Mr. Burn sat on Bill Blake´s ver- andah, and the verandah, as has al- ready been explained, commanded the aeroplane´s shed. ¶ “ Whatsh that dirty shcallywag of a Peterson doin` in Tomardi´s pad- docksh ? ” inquired Mr. Burn, en- deavouring to stand up, but falling back at once upon the comparative security of the wooden bench. No- body answered him. Alf Kiggins was incapable of taking the most per- functory interest in surrounding events, and Silas Weldon regarded Peterson´s movements as altogether beneath his notice. ¶ Jim Burn had spent practically the whole day in the congenial occupa- tion of pouring liquor into himself. Occasionally he vaguely remembered that Mr Pascoe expected him back at the ridge some time during the afternoon, but another glass usually had the desired effect of making him forget all such unpleasant considera- tions, at any rate for a time. ¶ “ Shee that d——d shcallywag of a Peterson, ” remarked Mr. Pascoe´s usually most respectable foreman, as he dug Mr. Weldon in the ribs with his huge thumb, “ well, `e ain`t up- ternogood, you mark my wordsh. ” ¶ “ Keep yer mouth fer drinkin`, Jim, ” said Mr. Weldon kindly, “ it ain`t no use fer talkin` sense. ” ¶ “ Setemupagin, boss, ” roared Jim Burn, hanging his heavy glass on the bench beside him, and Bill Blake thereupon appeared from the in- terior with a tray already looked° with mugs of his slow poison. He was obliged to do all the work him- self that afternoon because Wilga had gone to lie down. She had a bad nervous headache. Most incon- siderate of her. ¶ By this time Joe Peterson was close to the hotel. The indications of festive hilarity on the verandah allured him. Possibly somebody might offer to shout for him. ¶ “ Wotsh you bin doin` over in Tom- ardi´s paddocksh,you d——d shcal- lywag ? ” bellowed Jim Burn, rising to his feet with great difficulty, and preserving his balance by holding on to the verandah post. ¶ Joe Peterson´s knees trembled un- der him. For an instant he thought that the intoxicated foreman must have seen him tampering with the aeroplane. A moment´s reflection however, showed him that his fear must be unfounded, and he decided to brave it out. ¶ “ You`re seein` double. Mr. Fore- man, ” he remarked pleasantly. “ Best let up on the booze an` you won`t see so much. ¶ “ Seein`double, am I, you squinny- eyed `ound ? ” roared Mr. Burn, who never forgot that he was a discip- linarian and accustomed to handling men even when he was drunk. “ I`ve been a `dam sight too much fer you, let me tell you that. Come now, wot was you a doin` in that pad- dock ? ” ¶ “ Grazin`, of course, ” retorted Pet- erson provocatively, but he began to feel a horrible dread of this drunk- en blusterer. “ Ain`t yer going to shout me a beer ? ” he added, just to show that he was not in the least afraid. ¶ But Jim Burn let the request pass unnoticed. He appeared to be wrest- ling with some profound problem, and the outward and visible signs of intoxication diminished with mar- vellous rapidity. He became almost unnaturally quiet. ¶ “ Jest come along `ere ter a min- ute, mate, an` `ave a bit of a pitch an` a smoke, ” he said at last. ¶ There was something about the man that Joe Peterson could not fathom, and he considered that a few minutes might be well spent in getting to the bottom of the enig- ma. He was conscious that there were buried incidents in his career — and even recent incidents— which would not bear exhumation. ¶ “ Right-ho, ” he remarked with a poor assumption of cheerfulness, and sat down next to Mr. Weldon, who at once got up and walked to the far end of the verandah. ¶ “ Thatsh orl right, ” observed Mr. Burn, taking out his pipe and plug of tobacco, “ now we`re gettin` along comfortable. ” He searched his pock- ets one after another for something that apparently wasn`t there. ¶ “ Gotter knife about yer ? ” he said to Peterson, “ I`ve lorst mine. ” ¶ Peterson produced a common cheap knife from his pocket and handed it to Jim Burn. The foreman took it and examined it carefully, opening both blades and trying them on his thumb nail. ¶ “ `Tain`t much of a knife, is it ? ” he remarked deprecatingly. ¶ “ No, it ain`t, ” said Peterson sul- lenly, “ I `ad a better one, but I lorst it. ” ¶ “ Wot sort of a knife might it have been ? ” asked Jim Burn, whose eyes had acquired a dangerous gleam. ¶ “ Wot`s that to you ? ” retorted Joe Peterson, who began to smell trou- ble. ¶ “ Was it a black `andled two-blad- ed knife, with the name of the mak- er, Rodgers, Sheffield, stamped on both blades ? ” cried Jim Burn with a threatening ring in his voice. ¶ “ Will, supposin` it was ? ” replied Joe Peterson, now thoroughly fright- ened, “ wot of it ? ” ¶ “ Nothin` much, ” said Mr. Burn very quickly, but looking Joe Pet- erson straight in the eyes, “ except that we`ve found a knife like that up at our camp, and we reckon it`s been used for cuttin` rope. ” ¶ He paused and looked round signi- ficantly amid the wondering glances of Bill Blake and old Weldon. ¶ “ There`s a warrant out, Mr Scal- lywag, ” he added, “ for the arrest of the owner of that there knife, an` if ye knows where `e is ye`d better tell `im to clear, or, like as not, the next thing `ll be another rope, round his neck this time and no knife `andy to cut it with. ” ¶ But Joe Peterson had heard quite enough. He left Bill Blake´s licen- sed premises quicker than he had ever left them in his life before. So his secret had become known after all. He would have to get away from Waratah Valley at once and for ever if he did not want to renew his acquaintance with the inside of a penal establishment for a long term of years. And if anything hap- pened to the driver or passenger of Black Swan as the result of the loading — if either of them was killed — well, it might mean something worse even than imprisonment for him. Joe Peterson broke out into a cold sweat as he ran on. He was not a courageous criminal. It was dark by this time, but the moon was rising, and he rapidly revolved plans of escape while he got away as fast as possible from the net that was being made ready to involve him. ¶ (To be continued. )

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER XIV. — ( Continued ). ¶ He determined to make for Big Hill by the road and thence through the bush to Bottlebrush, where he could board the monorail, and, with a bit of luck as a stowaway, he might be at Port Darwin in less than twenty-four hours. it was hardly likely that Mr. Cassidy would follow him as far as that. Peterson rapidly calculated his chances, pant- ing as he ran. Once at Bottlebrush he would be all right. The cross- country monorail would take him to Moss Vale, where he could board the transcontinental from Sydney to Port Augusta. Moss Vale to Port Augusta, seven hundred miles ; Port Augusta to Port Darwin, fourteen hundred miles. That would be two thousand one hundred miles — just twenty-one hours by the transcon- tinentals, which averaged a hundred miles an hour, though he had seen in the newspapers that the gyro-mail to the Territory did as much as a hundred and fifty miles an hour through the Central Australian De- sert. ¶ The thought of travelling at a spued of one hundred and fifty miles an hour away from Waratah Valley, and from the accusing voice of Jim Burn cheered the panting fugitive momentarily. But his immediate plight was distressing. How could he find his way through the bush to Bottlebrush, fifty miles off ? He be- gan to feel hungry already. How pleasant it would be to break into Tom Hardy´s little empty house on the section with an axe and get food ! ¶ It was a bright moonlight night, and, as Peterson stumbled along cur- sing the Hardys, Bert Milligan, and Jim Burn as the authors of his mis- fortunes he saw the road curving away in front of him, every log and every boulder at the side clearly outlined in the brilliant light. Glan- cing up at the moon he became aware of a dark object apparently a large bird, rapidly overhauling him and keeping immediately ab- ove the road. Very soon he heard a too familiar humming, and realised with a sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach that it was Cassidy in his monoplane. Jim Burn said that Cassidy had a warrant for his arrest ! ¶ The terrifying truth was clear. Cassidy was out after him. It was necessary for him to escape arrest at all hazards. Then began one more scene in that eternal drama which Nature stages in her remotest solitudes, and also though less con- spicuously, in the busy haunts of men — the drama of the pursuer and the pursued. The instinct of self- preservation came out in Joe Pet- erson potent in incentives to cunning expedients, while the primeval in- stinct of the chase urged Cassidy, soaring aloft in his monoplane, to redoubled vigilance. ¶ Peterson guessed that Cassidy had not yet seen him, but if he stayed on the road his discovery was cer- tain. Fortunately for him he was al- ready close to the lower slopes of Big Hill. If he could only reach the heavy timber that afforded splendid cover he would be safe. He dashed through the fence and made for cover with the instinct of a hare in front of a greyhound. There was a thick patch of scrub only a hundred yards away. Peterson reached it and flung himself into the undergrowth. His breath came quick in sobs. He lay face downwards in the kindly scrub that even the moonlight could not penetrate. But had Cassidy seen him or not ? That was the agonising doubt that did more than all his ex- ertion to make his heart thump so horribly. ¶ As a matter of fact Cassidy was so intent upon methodically search- ing the road immediately beneath him that he did not see the frantic dash for cover by the fugitive in front. He descended to within thirty feet of the road and patrolled it sys- tematically. The trooper was still the victim of his own past training. The “ beat ” habit was strong upon him. He had ascertained at the ho- tel that Peterson had taken the Big Hill road, and he calculated that the arrest would be an easy task. ¶ However, after examining the road carefully right up to the gate of Tom Hardy´s birthright section and back nearly to the township, Mr. Cassidy decided to make a wide cast with the object of picking up the lost scent. He rose to one hundred feet and flew slowly over the open country on the left side of the road. Every tree stood out with vivid clearness in the moonlight. Then descending to thirty feet above the ground he scrutinised each ob- ject closely. Peterson held his brea- th as the monoplane passed slowly over the dense patch of scrub that sheltered him. So might some wild creature of the bush lie panting while its enemy, the eagle hawk, sailed over it, questing for prey. ¶ Cassidy was frankly puzzled. ¶ “ Bedad, `tis a quare thing intirely, where that shpalpeen boy hid him- self, ” he ruminated. “ Annyway he`ll be cliver if he gets away from me an` the jigger this night. He can`t hov reached the big timber yit, an` I cud see a fly washin` its face in the open. ” ¶ As the trooper worked back to- wards the township Peterson recon- noitred his position. A couple of hundred yards away from his patch of scrub was a big log. It looked as if it might be hollow. A hundred yards further was the edge of the tall timber. Once he could reach the tall timber he would be safe. It was so thick that no aeroplanist could possible manoeuvre his mach- ine in it. ¶ When the monoplane was a couple of miles away, towards the township Peterson made his dash, running in a crouching position with his head well down, so as to present the smallest possible surfare° to the eye of an observer behind him. He reach- ed the log, and, to his rapture, found it was hollow and also roomy. Crawling inside he was perfectly safe from detection by an aerial ob- server. It was ideal cover. But as he regained his breath after his dash the fugitive reflected that he could not possibly stay where he was. Hunger prompted him to make for the house on the birthright sec- tion as soon as possible. And so the imperative n?cessity° of finding food drove him from his position of security into fresh dangers, as the same necessity has driven so many myriads of Nature´s creatures in all the ages. ¶ Creeping from the hollow log Joe Peterson peered cautiously into the moonlit sky with his squinny eye, and located the monoplane a few hundred yards away, and immedia- tely behind him on his line of flight. It was dangerously near, but hunger was gnawing at him. He crept cautiously from the log and wriggled forward on his stomach to wards the big timber. ¶ A wild yell out of the moonlit sky told him that he was discovered. He rose to his feet and ran. Looking back over his shoulder he saw the monoplane overhauling him at an in- credible pace. It was tearing along at full speed, fifty feet from the ground, and the booming of the pro- pellers was terrifying. ¶ “ Stand or I`ll fire. ” ¶ The words rang out sharp and clear, but Joe Peterson with head bent forward sped on for every life. Bang ! bang ! bang ! The bullets cut the earth all round him, but he never thought of stopping. Cassidy emptied his revolver without making a single hit. To shoot straight from the swaying, swooping air-machine was impossible. The last bullet nicked a bit of bark from a tall blackbutt as Joe Peterson dashed past it and vanished into the tall shadows that filled the narrow pas- sages and mazy pathways of the big bush. ¶ “ Bedad, I`ll hov him yet ! ” said Cassidy through his teeth as he brought the monoplane to earth with a jarring crash just outside the big timber, and disappeared on foot in- to the labyrinth of tall trees load- ing his revolver as he ran. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER XIV. — WINGS OF JUDG- MENT. ¶ When Joe Peterson realised that the discussion between Mrs. Hardy and Bert Milligan was over, and that it had terminated on accordance with his fore- cast he slipped quietly away from his position under the window and walked irresolutely towards the road. So Tom Hardy´s wife was going to win away from her home with a lover. That would be a knock down blow for Tom Hardy, when he discovered if — as bad as a death stroke, or a worse, because death, at any rate, ended the capacity the feel pain, at least Joe Peterson presumed that it did. He seldom thought about such an unpleasant thing himself. ¶ A blind rage came over him as he realised the words of love, that Bert Mil- ligan had addressed to Alice, and heard again the final kiss that sealed the bar- gain by which poor Alice yielded herself up in return for the covenanted gift of obliterated memories and a new life with the past irrevocably wiped away. ¶ “ Blarst `im ! ” ejaculated Mr. Peterson angrily, “ w`y should `e kiss `er on the lips like that ? ” ¶ Some very unpleasant memory evi- dently occurred to the man, for he kept clenching and unclenching his hands ner- vously, and kicking bits of turf out of the ground with his heavy boots as he walked. ¶ As Mr. Peterson made his way across the little paddock, his squinny eye, roaming at large, happened to fall on Bert Milligan´s aeroplane. Black Swan was standing in an open shed, and Peter- son, impelled by a vagrant-impulse, mov- ed over to inspect it. ¶ “ Blarst `im, ” he repeated, with a very disagreeable expression upon his cruel lips. “ W`y should `e go for to kiss `er like that ? ” ¶ The conundrum that he had proposed to himself seemed to annoy him. “ An` blarst `er, too, ” he added savagely, I wish they was both dead. ” ¶ With this amiable aspiration he stepped up to Black Swan and examined it attentively. The two propellers at the rear were like darker shadows in the gathering shadow of night fall. He put his hand on the motor. It was still warm. ¶ The square box under the driver´s seat, for the reception of bags and par- cels, was closed. Peterson had often seen Bert Milligan open it. It was a spring lock. The man gave a hurried glance round the paddock. There was nobody in sight. ¶ Taking his knife out of his pocket, Peterson opened it and inserted the blade between the top of the box and the lid. He pressed the handle of the knife hard down. There was a click and the lid dropped. The box was open. ¶ The next shed to that in which the aeroplane was standing was Tom Hardy´s workshop. In the corner stood an old-ashioned° weighing machine in use years ago for weighing the farm pro- duce. It was covered with rust, and so were the heavy iron weights piled up on the ground beside it. Joe Peterson peered into the shed and examined those weights with close interest. He swore a horrible oath. ¶ “ I`ll let `im know about it, ” he mut- tered cryptically, “ and `er, too. ” ¶ With much difficulty and arduous straining he managed to drag out the largest weight, which was stamped “ 1 cwt. ” He hauled it along by the ring in the top, and by levering it up with an iron bar that he picked up from the tool bench, he succeeded in getting it into the empty mail box. Returning to the workshop he dragged out another oblong mass of iron with a similar ring in the top. It was branded “ ½ cwt. ” This was easier to deal with, and Peter- son quickly had it in the box beside the bigger weight. A third trip to the workshop resulted in a third weight, on which the mark “ ¼ cwt ”was legible, being deposited with the others in the receptacle provided for the mails. ¶ Joe Peterson surveyed his work with a leer of satisfaction. Then he slammed the lid sharply, and the click told him that the lock had caught. ¶ “ I reckon Bert won`t `ave such a plea- sant honeymoon trip, after all, ” said the skulker to himself under his breath. “ `E`ll be carrying clost on two `undred pounds overweight wot `e won`t know nothin` about, besides `is lady passenger. Shudn`t wonder ef Black Swan were to give `im a bit of a buster ter-night. An` strike me, if I don`t ope it will, too. ” ¶ Having uttered that kindly hope Mr. Peterson walked quickly away from the shed, still muttering to himself. He was quite unaware that he had been noted when leaving the shed by the hilarious Mr. Burn, who enjoyed a view of the place where Milligan always kept the aeroplane. Mr. Burn sat on Bill Blake´s verandah, and the verandah, as has already been explained, commanded the aeroplane´s shed. ¶ “ Whatsh that dirty schallywag of a Peterson, doin` in Tomardi´s paddocksh ? ” inquired Mr. Burn, endeavoring to stand up, but falling back at once upon the comparative security of the wooden bench. Nobody answered him. Alf. Kiggins was incapable of taking the most perfunctory interest in surround- ing events, and Silas Weldon regarded Peterson´s movements as altogether be- neath his notice. ¶ Jim Burn had spent practically the whole day in the congenial occupation of pouring liquor into himself. Occasionally he vaguely remembered that Mr. Pascoe expected him to be back at the bridge some time during the afternoon, but an- other glass usually had the desired effect of making him forget all such unplea- sant considerations, at any rate for a time. ¶ “ Shee that d——d schwallywag of a Peterson, ” remarked Mr. Pascoe´s usually most respectable foreman, as he dug Mr. Weldon in the ribs with his huge thumb, “ well, `e ain`t upternogood, you mark my wordsh. ” ¶ “ Keep yer mouth fer drinkin`, Jim, ” said Mr. Weldon kindly. “ it ain`t no use fer talkin` sense. ” ¶ “ Septemupagin boss, ” roared Jim Burn, banging his heavy glass on the bench beside him, and Bill Blake there- upon appeared from the interior with a tray already loaded with mugs of his slow poison. He was obliged to do all the work himself that afternoon, because Wilga had gone to lie down. She had a bad nervous headache. Most inconsid- erate of her. ¶ By this time Joe Peterson was close to the hotel. The indications of festive hilarity on the verandah allured him. Possibly somebody might offer to shout for him. ¶ “ Wotsh you bin doin` over in To- mardi´s paddocksh, you d——d shcally- wag ? ” bellowed Jim Burn, rising to his feet with great difficulty, and preserving his balance by holding on to the veran- dah post. ¶ Joe Peterson´s knees trembled under him. For an instant he thought that the intoxicated foreman must have seen him tampering with the aeroplane. A moment´s reflection, however, showed him that his fear must be unfounded, and he decided to brazen it out. ¶ “ You`re seein` double, Mr. Foreman, ” he remarked pleasantly. “ Best let up on the booze an` you won`t see so much. ” ¶ “ Seein` double, am I, you squinny- eyed `ound ? ” roared Mr. Burn, who never forgot that he was a disciplinarian and accustomed to handling men even when he was drunk. “ I`ve seen a dam sight too much fer you, let me tell you that. Come now, wot was you a doin` in that paddock ? ” ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER XV. — EXPIATION. ¶ ( Continued ). ¶ Suddenly a strong puff of wind came up the gorge and canted the aeroplane half round. Milligan gave the rudder a sharp turn, and “ Black Swan ” almost recovered herself, but a second puff made her swerve again. The speedometer in front of the driving sent registered a speed of sixty-five miles an hour. ¶ As the machine swerved the second time Bert Milligan gave a startled cry. The next instant “ Black Swan ” crashed into the trunk of the big solitary blue gum twenty feet from its summit. and her petrol tank exploded with the re- port of a cannon. ¶ * * * * * * ¶ Whom Tom Hardy and Pascoe, with the men of the construction camp fol- lowing them reached the base of the big-blue gum they found the blackened, twisted and splintered remains of the air machine lying upon a man and a wo- man. The man was silent, but the wo- man groaned pitifully. ¶ As soon as they had extricated them from the debris they saw that the man was dead. Bert Milligan had been killed instantly. His skull, had been dashed against the solid trunk of the blue gum and smashed like an egg shell. But Alice Hardy, was not only alive but conscious. Her fall had been eased by the branches of the blue gum, and she had escaped with a broken forearm and a dislocated shoul- der. ¶ Tom Hardy stared at his wife with amazement, but it was no time for ask- ing questions. He was down on his knees beside her moistening her lips with brandy and whispering words of love and trusty into her ears, while two men, under Pascoe´s direction, carried the dead body of poor Bert Milligan into the engineer´s office and laid it out on the table. ¶ The tree of destiny had done its work. ¶ Pascoe himself was puzzled to account for Bert Milligan´s failure to clear the ridge. He walked across to where the shattered framework of the aeroplane was lying, and turned bits of the broken material over with his foot. His foot came in contact with a heavy piece of iron, and, stooping down, the engineer saw with amazement that it was an old- fashioned weight marked 1 cwt. ” ¶ “ Hi, Jim Burn ! I want you for a moment, ” called the engineer, and, when the foreman came up, sheepish but almost sober by this time, Pascoe point- ed to the weight. ¶ “ What do you make out of it, Jim ? ” he asked. ¶ Jim Burn, who had returned to thy camp a couple of hours earlier in the working car, looked long and earnestly at the big oblong weight with the rusty ring in the top. Then a sudden light illuminated the puzzle. ¶ “ It`s that there scallywag `as done it, ” he said with conviction ; “ that squinny-eyed Joe Peterson I seen `im monkeyin` around in the aeroplane shed when I was on Bill Blake´s verandah. ” ¶ The three weights were removed from the debris of the wrecked bi-plane and placed in the office along with the re- mains of the ill-starred mailman, there to await the investigation of the coro- ner, and then Pascoe anxiously consult- ed his watch. The time was five min- utes to twelve, and the returning gyro- car was timed to cross the bridge at twelve o`clock. ¶ But the strange and tragic happen- ings of that memorable night were not yet over, for as Pascoe was walking down towards the bridge to see the gyro- car pass over it at midnight he heard loud shouts from the edge of the gorge, and saw a number of the men running down towards the track of the mono- rail. ¶ Tom Hardy heard the shouts too, and looked up, wondering. He had lifted Alice into a sitting position and was down on the ground beside her support- ing her with his arm. They could see the whole length of the bridge brightly illuminated by the full moon, and the mouth of the tunnel on this opposite side, round and black and sinister, like the bore of an enormous gun. ¶ Confused shouting came from the thick timber that extended right up to the monorail track where it left the bridge and curved away to Waratah Valley. Cries of “ Stop him, ” “ Turn him, ” “ Head him off, ” rang out through the night air, and there was a swift rush of men to the bridge-end. ¶ “ Stand, or I`ll put a bullet t`rough ye, ” shouted a well-known voice, and a second later, a revolver shot startled the camp. ¶ But the fugitive, whoever he was, paid no attention to threats or warn- ings. His pursuers closing in on both sides behind him had headed him straight for the bridge, and Cassidy in the lead with a smoking, revolver in his hand dashed out upon the bridge in the wake of his quarry, eager to come to grips with him at last. ¶ “ Come back, Cassidy, come back now or you`ll be too late, ” shouted Pascoe, with his watch in his hand. ¶ “ Back, you fool, Cassidy, back or you`re a dead man, ” yelled the excited crowd of the bridge builders. ¶ Cassidy realised that some unseen danger was impending. What it was he knew not, but he darted back from the bridge and stood with the crowd beside the monorail track. ¶ The fugitive stood alone on the bridge. He was half-way across. He was hatless, his clothes were hanging from him in strips, and his face was bleeding from the thorns in the under- growth through which he had crawled. The moonlight shone full upon him, and even from where Tom Hardy knelt on the ground supporting Alice the face of the man on the bridge was clearly recog- nisable. ¶ It was Joe Peterson. ¶ ( To be Concluded ).

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER XV. — ( Continued. ) ¶ EXPIATION. ¶ As the machine swerved the second time Bert Milligan gave a startled cry. The next instant Black Swan crashed into the trunk of the big solitary blue gum twenty feet from its summit, and her petrol tank ex- ploded with the report of a cannon. ¶ When Tom Hardy and Pascoe, with the men of the construction camp following them, reached the base of the big blue gum they found the blackened twisted, and splintered re- mains of the air-machine lying upon a man and a woman. The man was silent, but the woman groaned piti- fully. ¶ As soon as they had extricated them from the debris they saw that the man was dead. Bert Milligan had been killed instantly. His skull had been dashed against the solid trunk of the blue gum and smashed like an egg shell. But Alice Hardy was not only alive but conscious. Her fall had been eased by the bran- ches of the blue gum she had escaped with a broken forearm and a dislocated shoulder. ¶ Tom Hardy stared at his wife with amazement, but it was no time for asking questions. He was down on his knees beside her moistening her lips with brandy and whispering words of love and trust into her ears, while two men, under Pascoe´s direction, carried the dead body of poor Bert Milligan into the engin- eer´s office and laid it out on the table. ¶ The tree of destiny had done its work. ¶ Pascoe himself was puzzled to ac- count for Bert Milligan´s failure to clear the ridge. He walked across to where the shattered framework of the aeroplane was lying, and turned bits of the broken material over with his foot. His foot came in contact with a heavy piece of iron, and, stooping down, the engineer saw with amazement that it was an old-fash- ioned weight marked “ 1 cwt. ” ¶ “ Hi, Jim Burn ! I want you for a moment, ” called the engineer, and, when the foreman came up, sheepish but almost soberly this time, Pas- coe pointed to the weight. ¶ “ What do you make out of it, Tim ? ” he asked. ¶ Jim Burn, who had returned to the camp a couple of hours earlier in the working car, looked long and earnestly at the big oblong weight, with the rusty ring in the top. Then a sudden light illuminated the puzzle. ¶ “ It`s that there scallywag `as done it, ” he said with conviction, “ that squinny-eyed Joe Peterson. I seen `im monkeyin` around in the aero- plane shed when I was on Bill Blake´s verandah. ” ¶ The three weights were removed from the debris of the wrecked bi- plane and placed in the office along with the remains of the ill-starred mailman, there to await the investi- gation of the coroner, and then Pas- coo anxiously consulted his watch. The time was five minutes to twelve and the returning gyro-car was tim- ed to cross the bridge at twelve o`clock. ¶ But the strange and tragic happen- ings of that memorable night were not yet over, for as Pascoe was walking down towards the bridge to see the gyro-car pass over it at midnight he heard loud shouts from the edge of the gorge, and saw a number of the men running down to- wards the track of the monorail. ¶ Tom Hardy heard the shouts too, and looked up, wondering. He had lifted Alice into a sitting position and was down on the ground be- side her supporting her with his arm. They could see the whole leng- th of the bridge brightly illuminat- ed by the full moon, and the mouth of the tunnel on the opposite side round and black and sinister, like the bore of an enormous gun. ¶ Confused shouting came frome° from the thick timber that extended right up to the monorail track where it left the bridge and curved away to Waratah Valley. Cries of “ Stop him, ” “ Turn him, ” “ Head him off, ” rang out through the night air, and there was a swift rush of men to the bridge-end. ¶ “ Stand or I`ll put a bullet t`rough ye, ” shouted a well-known voice, and a second later, a revolver shot start- led the camp. ¶ But the fugitive, whoever he was, paid no attention to threats or warnings. His pursuers closing in on both sides behind him had headed him straight for the bridge, and Cassidy, in, the lead with a smoking revolver in his hand lashed out upon the bridge in the wake of his quarry eager to come to grips with him at last. ¶ “ Come back, Cassidy, come back now, or you`ll be too late, ” shouted Pascoe with, his watch in his hand. ¶ “ Back, you fool, Cassidy, back or you`re a dead man, ” yelled the ex- cited crowd of the bridge builders. ¶ Cassidy realised that some unseen danger was impending. What it was he knew not, but he darted back from the bridge and stood with the crowd beside the monorail track. ¶ The fugitive stood alone on the bridge. He was half way across. He was hatless, his clothes were hang- ing from him in strips, and his face was bleeding from the thorns in the undergrowth through which he had crawled. The moonlight shone full upon him, and even from where Tom Hardy knelt on the ground sup- porting Alice the face of the man on the bridge was clearly recognis- able. ¶ It was Joe Peterson. ¶ The fugitive was plainly surprised and relieved to find that his pur- suers had desisted from the chase. He shook his fist at them derisive- ly. Then he peered cautiously over the edge of the narrow bridge first on one side and then on the other. Recoiling from the abyss below him he turned towards the tunnel. ¶ “ You fool, you fool, don`t go there, ” yelled Jim Burn, who stood beside Cassidy at the bridge-end, but Peterson paid no heed to the warn- ing. Escape from his pursuers by any other avenue was plainly im- possible, and he saw no reason why he should not take the obvious way to freedom. With a final gesture of derision and contempt he hobbled painfully into the mouth of the tun- nel and disappeared from sight. ¶ ( To be Continued. ) ¶ —————————— ¶ “ Yes, sir, in the winter we`ve to work very `ard. ” ¶ “ What do you do a day here. ” ¶ “ Watch the tide a-comin` in. ” ¶ “ But when you`re not doing that ? ” ¶ “ Why, watch the tide a-goin` out. ”

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER XV. — ( Continued ). ¶ EXPIATION. ¶ Hardly had Peterson vanished when a low roar like distant thunder broke upon the air, and running to the top Pascoe saw a bright light travelling with the speed of a shoot- ing star, but close down to the ground. It was coming from the direction of Waratah Valley. ¶ “ My God, it`s the gyro-car, ” he whispered with dry throat, “ and she`s travelling at nearly three miles a minute. ” ¶ The headlight of the gyro-train could be seen threading its way in a wide sweeping track from the township, obscured for a fraction of a second as it traversed a broad belt of heavy timber, and then shin- ing out again it reached the open country. ¶ “ Stand back, men, back for your lives ! ” shouted the engineer, fearing lest the careless or the too adven- turous standing near the track, might be caught in the fearful vor- tex of the swiftly rushing mass. ¶ The roar increased in volume, and, gazing almost petrified at the on- coming monster in the moonlight, Pascoe saw that it was surrounded by a nimbus of dust and twigs and flying leaves caught by the furious wind that the gyro-train generated by its own velocity. ¶ It was impossible now to signal to Dick Barr, the daring driver, who was spurring the monster to put forth all its efforts. A rocket might do it, Pascoe reflected, but he had no rockets at the camp, and even if he possessed one there would be no time to fire it before the gyro-train reached the bridge. It was singly eating up the distance. ¶ The head light flashed and quivered through the trees and a low moan came from the men who stood, wide- eyed and immovable, watching its onset, swift and terrible as that of an avenging, thunderbolt. ¶ Ha ! There it was. Only a mile from the bridge. Twenty-five seconds more or thereabouts. ¶ Dead silence in the groups of star- ing watchers. Cassidy threw down his revolver, and dropping on his knees, prayed fervently. ¶ With a roar, with a crash, with a clang, the gyro-train reached the bridge, leaped across it so swiftly that the eye could scracely° follow its flight, and vanished in the black mouth of the tunnel. The bridge was quivering. Again it gave forth a long musical note like that of an enormous tuning fork. ¶ Tom Hardy, still supporting his wife in a sitting posture on the ground, removed his hat and remain- ed with his head uncovered. “ May the Lord have mercy, on his soul, ” he said. ¶ And Pascoe, also bareheaded, ut- tered an awed “ Amen. ” ¶ CHAPTER XVI. ¶ LOVE, THE UNCHANGING. ¶ Once more it was summer in Waratah Valley. Paler and thiner°, and a shade more serious than before, Alice Hardy sat on the bench in front of the store holding her husband´s hand while Benny, just back from school in the little single-seated car, narrated all the small incidents of his day. ¶ Tom Broughton and his wife had just driven up in their new runabout and Wilga, for it was indeed she, went quick up to Mrs. Hardy, with her brightest smile and tenderly in- quired whether she was feeling bet- ter. ¶ “ Much better dear, ” said Alice, kissing her visitor affectionately, “ indeed you know that I am al- ways better for seeing you. Am I not, Tom ? ” ¶ Tom Hardy´s genial, loving smile was worth a ream of reassurance. ¶ “ Ah, my darling, ” he 'said, “ there shall never by any more misunder- standings, between us. And I`ll take good care to let other people man- age their own love affairs for them- selves in future. ” ¶ “ Now, that`s a forbidden subject Mr. Hardy, ” said Wilga, shaking a reproving forefinger under the big man´s nose. “ And, my dearest Alice, if my Tom and your Tom hadn`t both been given the same Christian name by their godfathers and god mothers at their baptism, that fatal letter of mine would never have caused so much terrible mischief. ” ¶ The lively young person turned round and beckoned to the big black- moustached man in the background. ¶ “ Tom Broughton, ” she said, “ come here, sir, at once, and apologise for your godfathers and your godmoth- ers. Now you may smile at Mrs. Hardy as much as you like. I`m not going to be jealous of her again, I promise you. ” ¶ Matrimony had made a new man of Tom Broughton. He was the most prosperous farmer in the district, his wife ruled him firmly but wisely, and he had developed quite a liking for feminine society. He was so good-tempered, too, that even Bill Blake almost forgave him for rob- bing him of his daughter and rend- ering it necessary to engage a “ nouse-keeper ” for the domestic du- ties incidental to the management of the Royal Hotel. ¶ Rumour said that Bill Blake inten- ded to marry the “ nousekeeper ” be- fore very long. His intention in that matter had given Silas Weldon an unpleasant scare at first, but now he was growing reconciled to the prospect. ¶ “ A woman`s a noosance about the `ouse, as a rule, ” he remarked philo- sophically, but, after all, she`s a necessary noosance. ” ¶ “ Why don`t you get your wife a new runabout, Mr. Hardy, and take her away for a good holiday, ” said Wilga, who was great on giving, good advice to all the husbands and wives of her acquaintance. ¶ “ You can`t get those lovely elec- tric cars so cheap now, and you on- ly have to change the batteries once a month. ” ¶ Tom Hardy smiled as he pressed his wife´s hand. “ The old car will do me for a bit longer yet, ” he said, ”° “ but I`ve promised Alice one of the very latest bi-planes. She`s so happy now that she wants to be treading on air all the time. She in- tends to drive it herself. ” ¶ Then, turning fondly to his wife, he said : “ And what name are you go- ing to give it, dearest ? ” ¶ Alice looked dreamily into the wes- tern sky. “ White Swan, ”she said very softly. ¶ And then, as her eyes sought her husband´s face once more, she whis- pered, half to herself and half to him : ¶ “ Many inventions cannot change love, neither can the new wings bear it away. ” ¶ ( The End. )

¶ Love and the Æroplane. ¶ CHAPTER XV. EXPIATION. ¶ Alice Hardy´s brain came sharply in- to conflict with her heart that night as she sat in the little room behind the store listening to the renewed pleading of Bert Milligan. Her heart, reaching out for her husband through the mists that encircled her on every side, bade her stay. Her brain, convinced by the long array of proofs that Bert Milligan mustered with such stunning effect, urged her to go. How could she remain any longer in the house that her hus- band had already deserted ? How could she endure to live on in that little com- munity knowing that she had lost the only thing that made life worth living at all — her husband´s love ? ¶ Far into the night the battle con- tinued, but at last her lover´s masterful and dominating personality broke down the pitiful defences that the well-nigh despairing woman had erected to pro- tect all that she held sacred. It was nearly midnight before the struggle ended in submission. Home, husband, and child — all were to be deserted. She was to go away as a captive in the car of the conqueror. ¶ She could hardly see through her tears as she groped her way through the deserted rooms. She had dressed her- self in a simple coat and skirt, and all her little bits of jewellery — presents from Tom in happier days — she arrang- ed upon her dressing table where he would see them when he came home and found her gone. ¶ Last of all, she draw her wedding ring from her finger, kissed it, and plac- ed it with the rest. ¶ “ Am I to take any money with me, Bert ? ” she asked in a low whisper. ¶ “ No, ” said the man curtly. “ I`ll carry you off from your husband be- cause I know that he is not worthy of you, but I`ll not rob him of his money. ” Bert Malligan´s° face was pale, but his eyes glared with a sombre fire. “ You`re mine from this moment, Alice, ” he murmured, looking into her upturned face, “ mine to work for — and — to love. ” ¶ He made her even put down a little shoe of Benny´s that she had picked up from the floor, under the child´ cot and was smuggling into the front of her blouse. ¶ “ No dearest, ” he said, with iron firmness. “ There must be no playing with the past. It is dead and it must be forgotten. That is the only condition upon which happiness will be possible for you. ” ¶ “ He left her sitting alone in the little room behind the store while he went out into the paddock and brought Black Swan out of the shed. He stepped into the driving seat and drove the biplane round on its rubber tyred bicycle wheels. The motor ran smoothly and well. ¶ Letting her outstretched hands drop to her sides with a gesture of infinite pathos Alice Hardy hurried from the room when she heard Bert´s voice call- ing her. Without a word she stepped into the seat beside him just as she was, taking nothing with her but the simple clothes that she wore. ¶ Bert started the motor, and Black Swan ran along the road, for a few yards. Then as the driver slightly ele- vated the front plane the machine made an ineffectual attempt to rise, and dropped back upon its bicycle wheels. Milligan set the motor going at full speed, and pulled over the lever that worked the elevating plane till it would go no further. Slowly and re- luctantly Black Swan laboured into the air, but, once up, the biplane flew fast and steadily. Bert listened with well trained car to the voice of the engine. He knew every inflection. The regular thud-thud was thoroughly satisfactory, and he recognised with real relief that the mechanism of the aeroplane was in perfect order. ¶ Alice Hardy uttered no word. Once she turned in her seat and sent a long look backwards towards the home that she was leaving. Then she fixed her gaze straight before her in the attitude that was to be constant henceforth. Al- ways to look forward, never to look back — that must be her rule of life now until the end. ¶ As they left the lights of the town- ship behind them and shaped a course for Bottlebrush, Bert Milligan´s dark brows wrinkled into a puzzled frown. Black Swan travelled splendidly on a horizontal course, but whenever he ele- vated the front plane she showed the same reluctance to rise that she had manifested on starting. It was only by continually working the lover and keep- ing the engine at its power that he managed to get her up to the thousand feet level. ¶ “ Strange, ” muttered Milligan to himself restlessly, “ she ought to handle the weight a lot better than this. ” ¶ He slowed her down to easy speed so as to keep a reserve of power in hand for an emergency. ¶ In the bright moonlight the aerial voyagers could see the white, winding road quite distinctly. It was the road along which Joe Peterson had fled gasping a few hours earlier. To their left were the lower slopes and the belt of tall timber into which Peterson had disappeared with the trooper hot upon his trail. A little to the right, but still well in front, the crest of Big Hill loomed up a full two thousand feet at the lowest part of the plateau, and Mount Baldy, further round, was higher still. ¶ Bert Milligan gave the front plane more elevation, and Black Swan labour- ed up to the fifteen hundred feet level. They were nearing the plateau of Big Hill now. Alice looked out in front of her and plainly saw, bathed in the full flood of the moonlight, a clearing that she recognised as little Benny´s birth- right section. It was quite bare of tim- ber except for the big blue gum that stood up lonely and defiant on the ridge quite close to Ryan´s Leap — the tree that had saved her husband and her child from death. She gulped back a sob and looked at Bert. ¶ “ Everything is all right, isn`t it, Bert ? ” she said, a little anxiously, for the mailman´s brow was troubled, as, slowly and with difficulty, he coaxed Black Swan higher and higher still. ¶ “ Quite right — dearest, ” said the mailman, without a tremor in his voice. He had crossed the range at this point hundreds of times with much more ex- tra weight on the machine than the weight of a single passenger. With the engine running so perfectly he knew that Black Swan could rise another thousand feet with ease. ¶ Still, when he gave her more eleva- tion she showed an unaccountable slow- ness in responding. There was no time to spare now. He pulled over the lev- er to its fullest extent, and the biplane rolled slightly in her course before ris- ing. Would she never get up to the two thousand feet ? Ah ! The gauge in front of him showed it at last. ¶ Now for the supreme effort. ¶ Black Swan was like a gallant steeple- chaser with a big fence to be cleared at the end of a stiff race. As Bert Milli- gan took the last ounce of power out of the engine and elevated the front plane to its fullest extent the aeroplane rushed forward with a terrific accession of speed, but she rose with sinister slowness. They were close to the ridge at last. Looking out in front of her Alice could already see the lights of the construction camp beside the gorge, and a solitary light in the little house on the birthright section. ¶ Yes, they would clear the ridge easi- ly. They must clear it. Bert pulled furiously at the lever of the elevating plane, and Black Swan rose well over the level of the plateau. Only the tim- ber to clear now. Little by little the monoplane climbed up into the moonlit sky as it rushed forward at top speed. Then it began to sag downwards al- most imperceptibly. ¶ The man and the woman heard loud shouts from the construction comp — cries of warning. ¶ Bert Milligan, with his jaw set and rigid, and his eyes shining like live coals under the peak of his cap, had both hands on the levers. It would be a close thing, but they could clear the ridge itself — if that was all. ¶ Suddenly a strong puff of wind came up the gorge and canted the aeroplane half round. Milligan gave the rudder a sharp turn, and Black Swan almost re- covered herself, but a second puff made her swerve again. The speedometer in front of the driving seat registered a speed of sixty-five miles an hour. ¶ As the machine swerved the second time Bert Milligan gave a startled cry. The next instant Black Swan crashed into the trunk of the big solitary blue gum twenty feet from its summit, and her petrol tank exploded with the re- port of a cannon. ¶ * * * ¶ When Tom Hardy and Pascoe, with the men of the construction camp fol- lowing them, reached the base of the big blue gum, they found the blackened, twisted, and splintered remains of the air machine lying upon a man and a wo- man. The man was silent, but the wo- man groaned pitifully. ¶ As soon as they had extricated them from the debris they saw that the man was dead. Bert Milligan had been kill- ed instantly. His skull had been dash- ed against the solid trunk of the blue gum and smashed like an egg shell. But Alice Hardy was not only alive, but conscious. Her fall had been eased by the branches of the blue gum, and she had escaped with a broken forearm and a dislocated shoulder. ¶ Tom Hardy stared at his wife with amazement, but it was no time for ask- ing questions. He was down on her knees beside her moistening her lips with brandy and whispering words of love and trust into her ears, while two men, under Pascoe´s direction, carried the dead body of poor Bert Milligan in- to the engineer´s office, and laid it out on the table. ¶ The tree of destiny had done its work. ¶ Pascoe himself was puzzled to ac- count for Bert Milligan´s failure to clear the ridge. He walked across to where the shattered framework of the aeroplane was lying, and turned bits of the broken material over with his foot. His foot came in contact with a heavy piece of iron, and, stooping down, the engineer saw with amazement that it was on old fashioned weight marked ono cwt. ¶ “ Hi, Jim Burn ! I want you for a moment, ” called the engineer, and, when the foreman came up, sheepish, but almost sober by the time, Pascoe pointed to the weight. ¶ “ What do you make out of it, Jim ? ” he asked. ¶ Jim Burn, who had returned to the camp a couple of hours earlier in the working car, looked long and earnest- ly at the big oblong weight with the ring in the top. Then a sudden light illuminated the puzzle. ¶ “ It`s that there scallywag `as done it, ” he said, with conviction, “ that squinny-eyed Joe Peterson. I seen `im monkeyin` around in the aeroplane shed when I was on Bill Blake´s veran- dah. ” ¶ The three weights were removed from the debris of the wrecked biplane and placed in the office along with the re- mains of the ill-starred mailman, there to await the investigation of the coron- er, and then Pascoe anxiously consulted his watch. The time was five minutes to twelve, and the returning gyro-car was timed to cross the bridge at twelve o`clock. ¶ But the strange and tragic happen- ings of that memorable night were not yet over, for as Pascoe was walking down towards the bridge to see the gyro-car pass over it at midnight, he heard loud shouts from the edge of the gorge, and saw a number of the men running down towards the track of the monorail. ¶ Tom Hardy heard the shouts too, and looked up, wondering. He had lifted Alice into a sitting position and was down on the ground beside her, support- ing her with his arm. They could see the whole length of the bridge brightly illuminated by the full moon, and the mouth of the tunnel on the opposite side, round and black and sinister, like the bore of an enormous gun. ¶ Confused shouting came from the thick timber that extended right up to the monorail track where it left the bridge and curved away to Waratah Valley. Cries of “ Stop him. ” “ Turn him. ” “ Head him off ! ” rang through the night air, and there was a swift rush of men to the bridge end. ¶ “ Stand or I`ll put a bullet t`rough ye, ” shouted a well-known voice, and, a second later, a revolver shot startled the camp. ¶ But the fugitive, whoever he was, paid no attention to threats or warn- ings. His pursuers closing in on both sides behind him, had headed him straight for the bridge, and Cassidy in the lead with a smoking revolver in his hand dashed out upon the bridge in the ### NEXT 2 LINES OUT OF ORDER ### developed quite a liking for feminine society. He was so good-tempered, too, wake of his quarry, eager to come to grips with him at last. ¶ “ Come back, Cassidy, come back now, or you`ll be too late, ” shouted Pascoe with his watch in his hand. ¶ “ Back, you fool, Cassidy, back or you`re a dead man ! ” yelled the excited crowd of the bridge builders. ¶ Cassidy realised that some unseen danger was impending. What it was he knew not, but he darted back from the bridge, and stood with the crowd be- side the monorail track. ¶ The fugitive stood alone on the bridge. He was half way across. He was hatless, his clothes were hanging from him in strips, and his face was bleeding from the thorns in the under- growth through which he had crawled. The moonlight shone full upon him, and even from where Tom Hardy knelt on the ground supporting Alice the face of the man on the bridge was clearly re- cognisable. ¶ It was Joe Peterson. ¶ The fugitive was plainly surprised and relieved to find that his pursuers had desisted from the chase. He shook his fist at them derisively. Then he peered cautiously over the edge of the narrow bridge first on one side and then on the other. Recoiling from the abyss below him he turned towards the tun- nel. ¶ “ You fool, you fool, don`t go there, ” yelled Jim Burn, who stood beside at the bridge end, but Peterson paid no heed to the warning. Escape from his pursuers by any other avenue was plainly impossible, and he saw no reason why he should not take the ob- vious way to freedom. With a final gesture of derision and contempt he hobbled painfully into the mouth of the tunnel and disappeared from sight. ¶ Hardly had Peterson vanished when a low roar like distant thunder broke upon the air, and running to the top of the ridge Pascoe saw a bright light travelling with the speed of a shooting star, but close down to the ground. It was coming from the direction of War- atah Valley. ¶ “ My God, it`s the gyro-car, ” he whispered, with dry throat, “ and she`s travelling at nearly, three miles a minute. ” ¶ The headlight of the gyro-train could be seen threading its way in a wide, sweeping track from the township, ob- scured for a fraction of a second as it traversed a broad belt of heavy timber, and then shining out again as it reach- ed the open country. ¶ “ Stand back, men, back for your lives ! ” shouted the engineer, fearing lest the careless or the too adventur- ous, standing near the track, might be caught in the fearful vortex of the swiftly rushing mass. ¶ The roar increased in volume, and, gazing almost petrified at the on coming monster in the moonlight, Pascoe saw that it was surrounded by a nimbus of dust and twigs and flying leaves caught up by the furious wind that the gyro- train generated by its own velocity. ¶ It was impossible now to signal to Dick Barr, the daring driver, who was spurring the monster to put forth all its efforts. A rocket might do it. Pascoe reflected, but he had no rockets at the camp, and even if he possessed one there would be no time to fire it before the gyro train reached the bridge. It was simply eating up the distance. ¶ The head light flashed and quivered through the trees, and a low moan from the men who stood, wide eyed and im- movable, watching its onset, swift and terrible as that of an avenging thun- derbolt. ¶ Ha ! There it was. Only a mile from the bridge. Twenty-five seconds more or thereabouts. ¶ Dead silence in the group of staring watchers. Cassidy threw down his re- volver, and dropping on his knees, pray- ed fervently. ¶ With a roar, with. a crash, with a clang, the gyro-train reached the bridge, leaped across it so swiftly that the eye could scarcely follow its flight, and van- ished in the black mouth of the tunnel. The bridge was quivering. Again it gave forth a long musical note like that of an enormous tuning fork. ¶ Tom Hardy, still supporting his wife in a sitting posture on the ground, re- moved his hat and remained with his head uncovered. “ May the Lord have mercy on his soul, ” he said. ¶ And Pascoe, also bare-headed, utter- ed an awed “ Amen. ” ¶ CHAPTER XVI. ¶ LOVE, THE UNCHANGING. ¶ Once more it was summer in Wara- tah Valley. Paler and thinner, and a shade more serious than before, Alice Hardy sat on the bench in front of the store holding her husband´s hand while Benny, just back from school in the little single-seated car, narrated all the small incidents of his day. ¶ Tom Broughton and his wife had just driven up in their new runabout, and Wilga, for it was indeed she, went quickly up to Mrs. Hardy with her brightest smile, and tenderly inquired whether she was feeling better. ¶ “ Much better, dear, ” said Alice, kissing her visitor affectionately, “ in- deed you know that I am always better for seeing you. Am I not, Tom ? ” ¶ Tom Hardy´s genial, loving smile was worth a ream of reassurance. ¶ “ Ah, my darling, ” he said, “ there shall never be any more misunderstand- ings between us. And I`ll take good care to let other people manage their own love affairs for themselves in the future. ” ¶ “ Now, that`s a forbidden subject, Mr. Hardy, ” said Wilga, shaking a re- proving forefinger under the big man´s nose. “ And, my dearest Alice, if my Tom and your Tom hadn`t both been given the same Christian name by their godfathers and godmothers at their baptism, that fatal letter of mine would never had caused so much terrible mis- chief. ” ¶ The lively young person turned round and beckoned to the big, black mous- tached man in the background. ¶ “ Tom Broughton, ” she said, “ come here, sir, at once, and apologise for your godfathers and your godmothers. Now you may smile at Mrs. Hardy as much as you like. I`m not going to be jeal- ous of her again, I promise you. ” ¶ Matrimony had made a new man of Tom Broughton. He was the most pros- perous farmer in the district, his wife ruled him firmly but wisely, and he had {developed quite a liking for feminine society. He was so good-tempered, too,} that even Bill Blake almost forgave him for robbing him of his daughter and rendering it necessary to engage a “ nousekeeper ” for the domestic duties incidental to the management of the Royal Hotel. ¶ Rumour said that Bill Blake intend- ed to marry the “ nousekeeper ” before very long. His intention in that mat- ter had given Silas Weldon an unplea- sant scare at first, but now he was growing reconciled to the prospect. ¶ “ A woman`s a noosance about the `ouse as a rule, ” he remarked philoso- phically, “ but, arter all, she`s a neces- sary noosance. ” ¶ “ Why don`t you get your wife a new runabout, Mr. Hardy, and take her away for a good holiday, ” said Wilga, who was great on giving good advice to all the husbands and wives of her acquaintance. ¶ “ You can get those lovely electric cars so cheap now, and you only have to change the batteries once a month. ” ¶ Tom Hardy smiled as he pressed his wife´s hand. “ The old car will do me for a bit longer yet, ” he said, “ but I`ve promised Alice one of the very latest biplanes, She`s so happy now that she wants to be treading on air all the time. She intends to drive it her- self. ” ¶ Then, turning fondly to his wife, he said, “ And what name are you going to give it, dearest ? ” ¶ Alice looked dreamily into the west- ern sky. “ White Swan, ” she said very softly. ¶ And then, as her eyes caught her hus- band´s face once more, she whispered, half to herself and half to him : ¶ “ Many inventions cannot change love ; neither can the new wings bear it away. ” ¶ ( Finis. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER XV. — EXPIATION. ¶ Alice Hardy´s brain came sharply into conflict with her heart that night as she sat in the little room behind the store listening to the renewed pleading of Bert Milligan. Her heart, reaching out for her husband through the mists that encircled her on every side, bade her stay. Her brain, convinced by the long array of proofs that Bert Milligan mus- tered with such stunning effect, urged her to go. How could she remain any longer in the house that her husband had already deserted ? How could she endure to live on in that little com- munity knowing that she had lost the only thing that made life worth living at all — her husband´s love ? ¶ Far into the night the battle con- tinued, but at last her lover´s masterful and dominating personality broke down the pitiful defences that the well-nigh despairing woman had erected to protect all that she held sacred. It was nearly midnight before the struggle ended in submission. Home, husband, and child — all were to be deserted. She was to go away as a captive in the car of the conqueror. ¶ She could hardly see through her tears as she groped her way through the de- serted rooms. She had dressed herself in a simple coat and skirt, and all her little bits of jewellery — presents from Tom in happier days — she arranged upon her dressing table where he would see them when he came home and found her gone. ¶ Last of all, she drew her wedding ring from her finger, kissed it, and placed it with the rest. ¶ “ Am I to take any money with me, Bert ? ” she asked in a low whisper. ¶ “ No, ” said the man curtly. “ I`ll carry you off from your husband because I know that he is not worthy of you, but I`ll not rob him of his money. ” Bert Milligan´s face was pale, but his eyes glared with a sombre fire. “ You`re mine from this moment, Alice, ” he mur- mured, looking into her upturned face, “ mine to work for — and — to love. ” ¶ He made her even put down a little shoe of Benny´s that she had picked up from the floor under the child´s cot and was smuggling into the front of her blouse. ¶ “ No, dearest, ” he said, with iron-firm- ness. “ There must be no playing with the past. It is dead and it must be for- gotten. That is the only condition upon which happiness will be possible for you. ” ¶ He left her sitting alone in the little room behind the store while he went out into the paddock and brought Black Swan out of the shed. He stepped into the driving seat and drove the bi-plane round on its rubber-tyred, bicycle wheels. The motor ran smoothly and well. ¶ Letting her outstretched hands drop to her sides with a gesture of infinite pathos, Alice Hardy hurried from the room when she heard Bert´s voice call- ing. Without a word she stepped into the seat beside him just as she was ; taking nothing with her but the simple clothes that she wore. ¶ Bert started the motor, and Black Swan ran along the road for a few yards. Then as the driver slightly elevated the front plane the machine made an in- effectual attempt to rise and dropped back upon its bicycle wheels. Milligan set the motor going at full speed, and pulled over the lever that worked the elevating plane till it would go no fur- ther. Slowly and reluctantly Black Swan labored into the air, but, once it was up, the bi-plane flew fast and stead- ily. Bert listened with well-trained ear to the voice of the engine. He knew every inflection. The regular thud-thud was thoroughly satisfactory, and he re- cognised with real relief that the mechanism of the aeroplane was in per- fect order. ¶ Alice Hardy uttered no word. Once she turned in her seat and sent a long look backwards towards the home that she was leaving. Then she fixed her gaze straight before her in the attitude that was to be constant henceforth. Al- ways to look forward, never to look back — that must be her rule of life now until the end. ¶ As they left the lights of the township behind them and shaped a course for distant Bottlebrush, Bert Milligan´s dark brows wrinkled into a puzzled frown. Black Swan travelled splendidly on a horizontal course, but whenever he elevated the front plane she showed the same reluctance to rise that she had manifested on starting. It was only by continually working the lever and keep- ing the engine at its fullest power that he managed to get her up to the thousand feet level. ¶ “ Strange, ” muttered Milligan to him- self restlessly ; “ she ought to handle the weight a lot better than this. ” ¶ He slowed her down to easy speed so as to keep a reserve of power in hand for an emergency. ¶ In the bright moonlight the aerial voyagers could see the white winding road quite distinctly. It was the road along with Joe Peterson had fled gasp- ing a few hours earlier. To their left were the lower slopes and the belt of tall timber into which Peterson had dis- appeared with the trooper hot upon his trail. A little to the right, but still well in front, the crest of Big Hill loom- ed up a full two thousand feet at the lowest part of the plateau, and Mount Baldy, further round, was higher still. ¶ Bert Milligan gave the front plane more elevation, and Black Swan labor- ed up to the fifteen hundred feet level. They were nearing the plateau of Big Hill now. Alice looked out in front of her and plainly saw, bathed in the full flood of the moonlight, a clearing that she recognised as little Benny´s birth- right section. It was quite bare of tim- ber except for the big blue gum that stood up lonely and defiant on the ridge quite close to Ryan´s Leap — the tree that saved her husband and her child from death. She gulped back a sob and looked at Bert. ¶ “ Everything is all right, isn`t it, Bert ? ” she said, a little anxiously, for the mailman´s brow was troubled, as, slowly with difficulty, he coaxed Black Swan higher and higher still. ¶ “ Quite right — dearest, ” said the mail- man, without a tremor in his voice. He had crossed the range at this point hun- dreds of times with much more extra weight on the machine than the weight of a single passenger. With the engine running so perfectly he knew that Black Swan could rise another thousand feet with ease. ¶ Still when he gave her more elevation she showed an unaccountable slowness in responding. There was no time to spare now. He pulled over the lever to its fullest extent, and the bi-plane rolled slightly in her course before ris- ing. Would she never get up to the two thousand feet ? Ah. The gauge in front of him showed it at last. ¶ Now for the supreme effort. ¶ “ Black Swan ” was like a gallant steeplechaser with a big fence to be clear- ed at the end of a stiff race. As Bert Milligan took the last ounce of power out of the engine and elevated the front plane to its fullest extent the aeroplane rushed forward with a terrific accession of speed, but she rose with sinister slow- ness. They were close to the ridge at last. Looking out in front of her Alice could already see the lights of the con- struction camp beside the gorge, and a solitary light in the little house on the birthright section. ¶ Yes, they would clear the ridge easily. They MUST clear it. Bert pulled furious- ly at the lever of the elevating plane, and “ Black Swan ” rose well over the level of the plateau. Only the timber to clear now. Little by little the aero- plane climbed up into the moonlit sky as it rushed forward at top speed. Then it began to sag downwards almost im- perceptibly. ¶ The man and the woman heard loud shouts from the construction camp — cries of warning. ¶ Bert Milligan, with his jaw set and rigid, and his eyes shining like live coals under the peak of his cap, had both hands on the levers. It would be a close thing, but they could clear the ridge itself — if that was all. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ LOVE AND THE AEROPLANE. ¶ CHAPTER XV. — EXPIATION. ¶ The fugitive was plainly surprised and relieved to find that his pursuers had desisted from the chase. He shook his fist at them derisively. Then he peered cautiously over the edge of the narrow bridge first on one side and then on the other. Recoiling from the abyss below him he turned towards the tunnel. ¶ “ You fool, you fool, don`t go there, ” yelled Jim Burn, who stood beside Cas- sidy at the bridge-end, but Peterson paid no heed to the warning. Escape from his pursuers by any other avenue was plainly impossible, and he saw no reason why he should not take the ob- vious way to freedom. With a final ges- ture of derision and contempt he hobbled painfully into the mouth of the tunnel and disappeared from sight. ¶ Hardly had Peterson vanished when a low roar like distant thunder broke upon the air, and running to the top of the ridge Pascoe saw a bright light travelling with the speed of a shooting star, but close down to the ground. It was coming from the direction of Wara- tah Valley. ¶ “ My God, it`s the gyro-car, ” he whis- pered with dry throat, “ and she`s travelling at nearly three miles a minute. ” ¶ The head-light of the gyro-train could be seen threading its way in a wide, sweeping track from the township, ob- scured for a fraction of a second as it traversed a broad belt of heavy timber, and then shining out again as it reached the open country. ¶ “ Stand back, men, back for your lives ! ” shouted the engineer, fearing lest the careless or the too adventurous, standing near the track, might be caught in the fearful vortex of the swift- ly rushing mass. ¶ The roar increased in volume, and, gazing almost petrified at the on-com- ing monster in the moonlight, Pascoe saw that it was surrounded by a nimbus of dust and twigs and flying leaves caught up by the furious wind that the gyro-train generated by its own velocity. ¶ It was impossible now to signal to Dick Barr, the daring driver, who was spurring the monster to put forth all its efforts. A rocket might do it. Pas- coe reflected, but he had no rockets at the camp, and even if he possessed one there would be no time to fire it before the gyro-train reached the bridge. It was simply eating up the distance. ¶ The head light flashed and quivered through the trees, and a low moan came from the men who stood, wide-eyed and immovable, watching its onset, swift and terrible as that of an avenging thunderbolt. ¶ Ha ! There it was. Only a mile from the bridge. Twenty-five seconds more or thereabouts. ¶ Dead silence in the groups of staring watchers. Cassidy threw down his re- volver, and dropping on his knees, pray- ed fervently. ¶ With a roar, with a crash, with a clang, the gyro-train reached the bridge, leaped across it so swiftly that the eye could scarcely follow its flight, and van- ished in the black mouth of the tunnel. The bridge was quivering. Again it gave forth a long musical note like that of an enormous tuning fork. ¶ Tom Hardy, still supporting his wife in a sitting posture on the ground, re- moved his hat and remained with his head uncovered. “ May the Lord have mercy on his soul, ” he said. ¶ And Pascoe, also bare-headed, utter- ed an awed “ Amen ! ”

¶ OUR SERIAL STORY. ¶ LOVE, AND THE AEROPLANE ¶ CHAPTER XV. ¶ EXPIATION. ¶ Alice Hardy´s brain came sharply into conflict with her heart that night as she sat in the little room behind the store listen- ing to the renewed pleading of Bert Milligan. Her heart, reaching out for her husband through the mists that encircled her on every side, bade her stay. Her brain, convinced by the long array of proofs that Bert Milligan mustered with such stunning effect, urged her to go. How could she remain any longer in the house that her husband had al- ready deserted ? How could she en- dure to live on in that little com- munity knowing that she had lost the only thing that made life worth living at all — her husband´s love ? ¶ Far into the night the battle con- tinued, but at last her lover´s mas- terful and dominating personality broke down the pitiful defences that the well-nigh despairing woman had erected to protect all that she held sacred. It was nearly midnight be- fore the struggle ended in submis- sion. Home, husband, and child — all were to be deserted. She was to go away as a captive in the car of the conqueror. ¶ She could hardly see through her tears as she groped her way through the deserted rooms. She had dress- ed herself in a simple coat and skirt, and all her little bits of jewellery — presented from Tom in happier days — she arranged upon her dressing table where he would see them when he came home and found her gone. ¶ Last of all she drew her wedding ring from her finger, kissed it, and placed it with the rest. ¶ “ Am I to take any money with me, Bert ? ” she asked in a low whis- per. ¶ “ No, ” said the man curtly. “ I`ll carry you off from your husband be- cause I know that he is not worthy of you, but I`ll not rob him of his money. ”Bert Milligan´s face was pale, but his eyes glared with a sombre fire. “ You`re mine from this moment, Alice, ” he murmured, look- ing into her upturned face, “ mine to work, for — and — to love. ” ¶ He made her even put down a lit- tle shoe of Benny´s that she had pick- ed up from the floor under the child´s cot and was smuggling into the front of her blouse. ¶ “ No, dearest, ” he said, with iron firmness. “ There must be no playing with the past. It is dead and it must be forgotten. That is the only condition upon which happiness will be possible for you. ” ¶ He left her sitting alone in the little room behind the store while he went out into the paddock and brought Black Swan out of the shed. He stepped into the driving seat and drove the bi-plane round on its rubber-tyred, bicycle wheels. The motor ran smoothly and well. ¶ Letting her outstretched hands drop to her sides with a gesture of in- finite pathos Alice Hardy hurried from the room when she heard Bert´s voice calling. Without a word she stepped into the seat be- side him just as she was, taking no- thing with her but the simple clo- thes that she wore. ¶ Bert started the motor, and Black Swan ran along the road for a few yards. Then as the driver slightly elevated the front plane the machine made an ineffectual attempt to rise and dropped back upon its bicycle wheels. Milligan set the mo- tor going at full speed, and pulled over the lever that worked the elevating plane till it would go no further. slowly° and reluctantly Black Swan laboured into the air, but, once it was up, the bi-plane flew fast and steadily. Bert listen- ed with well-trained ears to the voice of the engine. He knew every in- flection. The regular thud-thud was thoroughly satisfactory, and he re- cognised with real relief that the mechanism of the aeroplane was in perfect order. ¶ Alice Hardy uttered no word. Once she turned in her seat and sent a long look backwards towards the home she was leaving. Then she fixed her gaze straight before her in the attitude that was to be con- stant henceforth. Always to look forward never to look back — that must be her rule of life now until the end. ¶ As they left the lights of the town- ship behind them, and shaped a course for distant Bottlebrush, Bert Milligan´s dark brows wrinkled into a puzzled frown. Black Swan tra- velled splendidly on a horizontal course, but whenever he elevated the front plane she showed the same re- luctance to rise that she had mani- fested on starting. It was only by continually, working the lever and keeping the engine at its fullest po- wer that he managed to get her up to the thousand feet level. ¶ “ Strange, ” muttered Milligan to himself restlessly, “ she ought to handle the weight a lot better than this. ” ¶ He slowed her down to easy speed so as to keep a reserve power in hand for an emergency. ¶ In the bright moonlight the aerial voyagers could see the white wind- ing road quite distinctly. It was the road along which Joe Peterson had fled gasping a few hours earlier. To their left, were the lower slopes and the belt of tall timber into which Peterson had disappeared with the trooper hot upon his trail. A little to the right, but still well in front, the crest of Big Hill loomed up a full two thousand feet at the lowest part of the plateau, and Mount Baldy, further round, was higher still. ¶ Bert Milligan gave the front plane more elevation, and Black Swan lab- oured up to the fifteen hundred feet level. They were nearing the platea° of Big Hill now. Alice looked out in front of her and plainly saw, bathed in the full flood of the moonlight, a clearing that she re- cognised as little Benny´s birthright section. It was quite bare of timber except for the big blue gum that stood up lonely and defiant on the ridge quite close, to Ryan´s Leap — the tree that saved her husband and her child from death. She gulped back a sob and looked at Bert. ¶ “ Everything is all right, isn`t it, Bert ? ” she said, a little anxiously, for the mailman´s brow was trou- bled, as, slowly and with difficulty, he coaxed Black Swan higher and higher still. ¶ “ Quite right — dearest, ” said the mailman, without a tremor in his voice, He had crossed the range at this point hundreds of times with much more extra weight on the ma- chine than the weight of a single passenger. With the engine running so perfectly he knew that Black Swan could rise another thousand feet with ease. ¶ Still when he gave her more ele- vation she showed an unaccountable slowness in responding. There was no time to spare now. He pulled over the lever to its fullest extent, and the bi-plane rolled slightly in her course before rising. Would she never get up to the two thousand feet ? Ah. The gauge in front of him showed it at last. ¶ Now for the supreme effort. ¶ Black Swan was like a gallant steeplechaser with a big fence to be cleared at the end of a stiff race. As Bert Milligan took the last ounce of power out of the engine and ele- vated the front plane to its fullest extent the aeroplane rushed forward with a terrific accession of speed, but she rose with sinister slowness. Trey were close to the ridge at last. Looking out in front of her Alice could already see the lights of the construction camp beside the gorge, and a solitary light in the little housed on the birthright section. ¶ Yes, they would clear the ridge easily. They MUST clear it. Bert pulled furiously at the lever of the elevating plane, and Black Swan rose well over the level of the plateau. Only the timber to clear now. Little by little the aeroplane climbed up into the moonlit sky as it dashed forward at top speed. Then it be- gan to sag downwards almost im- perceptibly. ¶ The man and woman heard loud shouts from the construction camp — cries of warning. ¶ Bert Milligan, with his jaw set and rigid, and his eyes shining like live coals under the peak of his cap, had both hands on the levers. It would be a close thing, but they could clear the ridge itself — if that was all. ¶ Suddenly a strong puff of wind came up the gorge and canted the aeroplane half round. Milligan gave the rudder a sharp turn, and Black Swan almost recovered herself, but a second puff made her swerve again ! The speedometer in front of the driving seat registered a speed of sixty-five miles an hour. ¶ ( To be Continued. )

¶ CHAPTER XVI. — LOVE, THE UN- CHANGING. ¶ Once more it was summer in Waratah Valley. Paler and thinner, and a shade more serious than before, Alice Hardy sat on the bench in front of the store holding her husband´s hand while Benny just back from school in the little single- seated car, narrated all the small inci- dents of his day. ¶ Tom Broughton and his wife had just driven up in their new runabout, and Wilga, for it was indeed she, went quick- ly up to Mrs. Hardy with her brightest smile, and tenderly inquired whether she was feeling better. ¶ “ Much better, dear, ” said Alice, kiss- ing her visitor affectionately ; “ indeed, you know that I am always better for seeing you. Am I not, Tom ? ” ¶ Tom Hardy´s genial, loving smile was worth a ream of reassurance. ¶ “ All, my darling, ” he said, “ there shall never be any more misunderstand- ings between us. And I`ll take good care to let other people manage their own love affairs for themselves in future. ” ¶ “ Now, that`s a forbidden subject, Mr. Hardy, ” said Wilga, shaking a reproving forefinger under the big man´s nose. “ And, my dearest Alice, if my Tom and your Tom hadn`t both been given the same Christian name by their godfathers and godmothers at their baptism, that fatal letter of mine would never have caused so much terrible mischief. ” ¶ The lively young parson turned round and beckoned to the big, black mous- tached man in the background. ¶ “ Tom Broughton, ” she said, “ come here, sir, at once, and apologise for your godfathers and your godmothers. Now you may smile at Mr. Hardy as much as you like. I`m not going to be jealous of her again. I promise you. ” ¶ Matrimony had made a new man of Tom Broughton. He was the most prosperous farmer in the district, his wife ruled him firmly but wisely, and he had developed quite a liking for feminine society. He was so good-tem- pared, too, that even Bill Blake almost forgave him for robbing him of his daughter and rendering it necessary to engage a “ nousekeeper ” for the domestic duties incidental to the management of the Royal Hotel. ¶ Rumor said that Bill Blake intended to many the “ nousekeeper ” before very long. His intention in that matter had given Silas Weldon an unpleasant scare at first, but now he was growing recon- ciled to the prospect. ¶ “ A woman`s a noosance about the `ouse, as a rule, ” he remarked philoso- phically, “ but, after all, she`s a necessary noosance. ” ¶ “ Why don`t you get your wife a new runabout, Mr. Hardy ; and take her away for a good holiday, ” said Wilga, who was great on giving good advice to all the husbands and wives of her acquaintance. ¶ “ You can get those lovely electric cars so cheap now, and you only have to change the batteries once a month. ” ¶ Tom Hardy smiled as he pressed his wife´s hand. “ The old car will do me for a bit longer yet, ” he said, “ but I`ve promised Alice one of the very latest bi- planes. She`s so happy now that she wants to be treading on air all the time. She intends to drive it herself. ” ¶ Then turning boldly to his wife, he said : “ And what name are you going to give it, dearest ? ” ¶ Alice looked dreamily into the west- ern sky. “ White Swan, ” she said very softly. ¶ And then, as her eyes sought her hus- band´s face once more, she whispered, half to herself and half to him : ¶ “ Many inventions cannot change love ; neither can the new wings bear it away. ” ¶ ( Finis. )

Item sets: Vintage Science Fiction from Australian Newspapers 1901-1939 (Australian)