they camped that night on a clear little flat, close by the river, and again kitty found a 'possum for them to eat.

"if it hadn't been for you, kitty, i believe we should have died of hunger long ago," said smith. "you're a darling."

"ain't she just," cried the baker proudly. "kitty, my girl, when we gets into a town, and you 'as your 'air trimmed, and gets a good dress on you, you'll be the belle of the ball, that's what you'll be."

and he explained to her in simpler language that she was very good-looking, which was indeed true, for her figure was magnificent and her walk perfect. if her feet and hands were rather big, that was nothing to the baker, and her carriage would prevent any male critic from being severe on minor details.

"but i'm sorry for kitty when she gets among the so-called civilized lot," said smith. "they will be for tearing her in pieces."

"i'll tell them she carries poison in 'er finger nails," said the baker, "and you see they'll be civil. besides, we'll be rich, old son, and if kitty's rollin' in gold, she can wear skins and eat lizards if she likes."

and kitty, who was beginning to get curious about the women of her lover's tribe, inquired about their manners and customs. the baker got so entangled that smith fairly screamed.

"'old your row," said the baker, "and you an old bushman, too. you'd bring black-fellows from ten mile, you would."

"that's true," said smith; "i forgot."

but, then, to hear the baker distinguishing in terms of the east end between a lady and one who was not a lady, was too exquisitely ridiculous, especially when his pupil in the difficult art of social estimation was one to whom every term he used was blank mystery. for, roughly speaking, baker's definition of a lady amounted to asserting that a woman who could go out on sunday in a pony-cart was one. and if she or her husband kept a public-house, was no doubt of her status. smith refrained from upsetting any of the baker's statements, but the notion of kitty in whitechapel, was not to be endured.

"you won't take kitty to london, will you?" he asked.

"of course," said the baker. "d'ye think i'm ashamed of 'er? she'll bang the 'ole crowd."

"but she won't be happy, baker," said smith. "if you want to do her a good turn, you'll buy a big cattle station when we land the rhino."

"do you think so?" asked the baker.

"i'm sure of it."

"it's not a bad notion," said the baker. "and i'll 'ave a real swell governess from h'england to teach 'er the tricks. and are you goin' 'ome, smith?"

smith nodded.

"i'm not going to do any more mining, old man. i'll float a company, or get a syndicate together, to come out at once, and take up the mine. and, baker, you keep your mouth shut. if we come across any one, pitch them the beastliest yarns about the country. and don't let kitty give us away."

"i see," said the baker. and they turned in for the night.

they walked next day along the river bank without much difficulty, for the country was fairly free of scrub. they camped at noon, and made a dinner of smoke. for kitty could not find them anything but a few grubs, which they were not yet hungry enough to eat. they were hungry enough, however, to lose some of their spirits. it was all very well to talk about london, as if they were out of their troubles, but were they out? they did not know in the least where they were. they might yet be a thousand miles from the mouth of the river, they might be eaten by black-fellows any day, and if they were in no immediate danger of thirst, yet hunger fairly walked with them cheek by jowl. no, the end was yet unknown.

but as smith lay on his back a little apart from the others, it seemed to him once or twice that he heard a curious noise in the far distance. it was so faint that he could not be sure, and he did not draw the baker's attention to it. sufficient for the day was the hunger and trouble of it.

still, he did hear something at intervals, and it made him uneasy. was it like the cry of some distant and strange bird, or what was it like? it might be some black-fellow's call. he got uneasy, and, rising, walked to the river's bank, passing the baker and kitty, who were both asleep in the shade of some ti-tree scrub, which came out on their flat.

he lay down where he could get a view of the stream, and hearing nothing, began dreaming about england, and the troubles that had sent him to the devil. he had been very weak. he wondered if any woman was worth it all? he decided that the carrie of his dreams was worth it, and fell asleep.

he woke half an hour later with a strange sound yet ringing in his ears, and as he awoke, he looked across the river, and saw a party of black-fellows running as if for their lives. they were not coming their way, and in any case, the river was between them, so he lay still and watched. as the aboriginals ran, and disappeared in the thicker bush, he heard a peculiar and strange throbbing.

what could it be? he turned to call the baker, but as he turned his head, there was a tremendous whistling scream, which echoed through the bush, and woke the others for him. they came running.

"what is it?" said the baker, as kitty clung to him.

and smith tried to speak, but could not. he pointed down the river, a steamer was coming round the point! this was then their deliverance, and the very seal upon his luck.

"what is it?" cried kitty. "can you kill it, baker?"

but he took her in his arms, and hugged her till she cried out.

"it's all right, kitty," he said; "it's only a white man's fire canoe. don't be scared."

and pulling out his revolver, he fired it into the air, dancing like a mad-man.

in twenty minutes, smith, the baker, and mrs. mandeville were on an exploration steamer which had come from king's sound, and had tried their river.

they were received as if they had risen from the dead, for an account of their probable loss had been published in all the colonial papers. smith found he knew the engineer, and in five minutes they were seated in the stuffy little cabin drinking bottled beer. kitty, who was the admiration of the whole crew, refused it in terror. but she was glad to eat what they gave her.

"where did you pick her up?" asked the captain.

"it's a long story," said smith, and he gave them a rough outline of their adventures.

"and no other luck?" he asked.

"no," said smith, "and there's no need to go any further. it's not navigable for more than thirty miles now."

he told them the story of the river sink.

then the gentleman who was the scientific head of the small party, tried to interrogate kitty. she shook her head, and referred him to the baker, who spun him a yarn that got into print, and was universally and most rightfully disbelieved. for the baker considered that the real yarn was smith's, and that smith's injunction to keep the gold dark was a sort of general order to mislead every one in every possible way.

the expedition returned to the sound in about a fortnight, and smith raised enough money to take them south, and to carry him to england on his errand of finance. but before he went he saw kitty dressed in the garments usually affected by the women of the tribe to which her husband belonged. for the baker considered it his duty to marry her, and he did so, in spite of kitty's violent remonstrances.

the ceremony, which was witnessed by a larger crowd than had ever gathered together on a similar occasion in the whole history of western australia, affected her nerves worse than the desert of pits, and to this day she cannot understand why it was necessary, or what good it did her or those who saw it. among the crowd were tom the water-carrier and hicks.

it is possible that smith's, or rather archibald gore's, wife may have explained the meaning of the ceremony to her. for, two months after smith left for england, the baker received a cable from him:

"syndicate formed; am coming out with wife. sailing to-day."

"smith's coming out, kitty," said the baker, when he received it.

"i'm glad," cried kitty.

"he's got a wife, too," said the baker. "i suppose it's bound to 'appen to a man if 'e only lives long enough."

"yes," said kitty; "and will she like me?"

the baker looked at her indignantly.

"if she don't, she ought to come through what we went through, old girl. and 'ave you alongside to show 'er what's what."

for the baker was firmly convinced that mrs. mandeville, in spite of some eccentricities, was absolutely the best woman in the world. and what she did not know about civilisation was compensated for by what she knew of the bush. when he got that governess out, he had great hopes of his wife's taking a prominent position in society.