An Australian Lassie

dney's most fashionable suburbs; when a tender-eyed mother had watched delightedly over his first gleams of intelligence, and a proud father had perched him on his shoulder for a bed-t

ed round a drawing-room, to display to admiring friends, his chubby wrists,

ng mother from that happy home, and little John Brown be

p-mother, would be handed over to the cook, a rotund motherly person who w

ve a way of fallin

ived from "out back," packed up the baby's things with her ow

gs were sold the next week along with the tables and chairs and other "household effects,"

n of little John Brown's existence became altered. He was one of three

ver carried around for admiration, for the very good reason that visitors were few and far between-and there was (except to doting parents, pe

at four, shoot at seven, ride, yard cattle, milk, chop wood, make bush fires and put them out again, ring bark trees all before he was elev

ff squatter he had grown up with. And at thirteen he was taken from the station-life he lov

to this grey-bearded father of his, he was taken across the blue harbour

ssed between them. For the man's thoughts were away down the slope of many years, a

ates when the man broke the silence

r home will be in

prospect thoughtfull

ome," he said. "

tched you away sooner, only I shirked a duty. Open the littl

busy over the questions he wished to ask his fa

it's a marvellous thing how life has arranged itself. The

great front door, Mr. Brown

It is strange how life has fallen out-how my boy will be--" He put out his hand and p

his father could reply the door had rolled

a table, motioned to John, and opene

as he entered the room.

now. His father stood half-way across th

king face, and an unmistakable sea-captain

he a

in the twinkling of an ordinary person's eye-to the thin badly-dress

" said Mr. Brown, apologetic still. "Yet

all the better without 'em. And you were never anyth

oh

Brown, we'll say. It's a pit

ed. It can be merely John Carew, if you l

o you say John to changing your na

and consternation, the b

Carew, "and how's t

id John anxiously, "and I'd

Leave him al

e about Warrena. I can make 'em all si

e into the ol

ou'd have cast your name away as easily as a pinching pair o' boots. St

its square determined mouth, quiet grey eyes and high forehead; the sturdy f

fighting kind?"

aid John

ber, Brown. Things might have

in. Then he s

to take life together, boy-though you're at one end of the ladder and I'm at t'other. Your name's your name right enough, but I want you to be good enough to tack mine on to it