come home drunk, with a muddled yarn about meeting an old chum and having a glorious "auld-lang-syne" night at some club.
I was very attentive all the way. I got tea and cake and sandwiches at every refreshment room, and whatever fruit I could lay hands on, and nursed the children to sleep by turns; but it didn't soften Mary. She wasn't a child any longer. She only said, "Thank you, Joe," and as I watched her face it seemed to grow harder and more set and obstinate.
"Mary," I said at last, when we were going down the Great Zig-zag, "suppose we get out at Wallerawang, and go up through Cudgegong? We can rest there for a day, and then go on to Gulgong, and see your sister and Dick, and stay there for a night perhaps."
"If you like, Joe," said Mary.
"You'll like to see Hilda, Mary, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, Joe," she said, in the same cold, disinterested tone, "I would like to see her."
The case seemed hopeless. I had first-class tickets through to Dubbo, and would have to get others for the Cudgegong (Mudgee) line; besides, the coach fares would be extra, and I thought Mary would rouse herself, and buck at the waste of money, but she didn't seem to mind that a bit. But Haviland cattle station was on the Cudgegong line, and it was at Haviland where I first met Mary. She was brought up there from a child, and I thought that the sight of the place would break her down, if anything would.
We changed trains at Wallerawang Junction at midnight, and passed the great Capertee Valley and
