his notion of a panacea for ills of body and mind. When Ina had drunk her wine he began his accompaniment again and burst into the song. He had a fair baritone, and sang with a certain manner as of one who knew what he was about. He put a good deal of dramatic go into the rattling words—
"O'er the range and down the gully, across the river bed,
We are riding on the tracks of the cattle that have fled:
The mopokes all are laughing, and the cockatoos are screaming,
And bright amidst the stringy barks the parrakeets are gleaming.
The wattle blooms are fragrant, and the great magnolias fair
Make a heavy sleepy sweetness in the hazy morning air;
But the rattle and the crashing of our horses' hoofs ring out,
And the cheery sound we answer with our long-repeated shout."
And then came the chorus which the four took up—
"Coo-ee—Coo-ee—Coo-ee—Coo-ee!"
"My dear Horace," said Hallett, "why didn't you try for fortune in the light operatic line? You are much better suited for that than for roughing it in Australia."
"I did think of it," replied Lord Horace seriously; "but the light operatic line is played out in England, there's no chance for anybody now. And then one's people would have thought it infra dig. They're old-fashioned, you know—don't go in for modern innovations—the stage cult and that sort of thing. It's not a bad notion of yours, though—an opera of bush life—openin' chorus of stockmen and bush-rangers, and Moonlight for a hero. It might pay better than free-selecting on the Luya."
"It might well do that," said Elsie, who was rather fond of a passage-at-arms with her brother-in-law.
Lord Horace caught her round the waist and gave her a twirl into the verandah. "A waltz—a waltz, Ina," he cried. Ina played. There were some blacks outside who clapped their hands and cried out "Budgery!" and the pair stopped to have what Lord Horace called a "yabber." Hallett and Ina were left alone. She let her hands fall from the piano,
