paddock of three hundred acres. with swing gates painted white, had been fenced off, and only animals that were in work were grazed there. A stable with a loft and outside stalls and a small yard adjoining were added to the improvements. What was to be a "great garden" — the garden of Runnibede — according to the Governor, who never grew tired of rhapsodising over everything that was done, or was going to be done — was laid out in gravel walks — fine gravel it was, too, hauled from the creek’s bed with the bullock team — -and avenues of trees and rows of hedges. In the centre of it all stood the "big house," which one day, when big cheques began to roll in for fat mobs off Runnibede, was to be rebuilt into a castle of stone, with fittings and furniture all of native timber. Such was the home of the Governor's dreams, and the future home of some of us who had not then been dreamt of. Temporary yards, too, to save time in the musters were erected out on Wallaby Creek, and the fencing of the eastern boundary was in progress. I remember the Governor taking Ted and me out with him one day to see how the men were getting along with it. He wasn’t a hard rider on such occasions, just took things easily — it was only when there was something "worth while" that the Governor would shake his mount up and make the pace, and how Ted and I shortened our reins and fidgeted in our saddle whenever an emu or a kangaroo, perhaps a mob of them, started up. If we had had our own way that day we would have given the lot of them the run of their lives, but whenever we shot out in pursuit of some
