ascertain that it was taut and sound. In the early morning he dressed himself again in the tattered island garb, brought as a relic to amuse his friends. He looked in his cabin glass. He had grown older and whiter in the night. He thought, with a sickly smile, there would be little likelihood of his being recognized. Clean-shaven, round-figured, well-dressed and upright, he had gone forth, nearly two years ago—he returned with grey, flowing locks and beard, stooping and worn.
With first streak of daylight the mariner stepped into his canoe, paddled unobserved, softly, from the wharf, spread his blanket-sail to the morning breeze, and sped past startled sheep, and wondering punt-people, up the Silverbourne. The red-gum splitter flung down his axe and called to his mate, cooking the morning meal, to see the wondrous sight.
In a few hours the white-haired voyager entered the canal. Wattle-blossom, blown from myriad branches by last night's wind, floated like a streak of gold on a silver stream, past him to the sea. The mimosa-scent brought him thoughts of home and the treasured past. He recalled to his mind the bright pathway of flowers that had marked his departure amidst the prayers and blessings of those who now cursed or had forgotten him. No loving hands had plucked this wattle-bloom; it was hurled by the wild wind to its watery grave, as he was cast away on the stream of life, to disappear in the ocean of oblivion.
A flush returned to the wan cheek, as the founder observed the downs of Fabricia dotted with close-lying gardens, and pleasant booths of industry; as the children of Kokiana ran to meet the singing house-father returning to his vine-clad cottage. Away, over the plains, the orchards now spread. Even the palsied hands of
