"I'm not going to be," said Nic; though he felt a little nervous, and thought of the consequences of a snap from those steel-trap jaws.

"That's right, sir. There--you'll be friends enough after this, Nibbler knows."

But Nibbler shook his head and growled, for the collies, after protesting, whining jealously at Nic's favours being bestowed upon a stranger instead of upon them, barked again and came on steadily, as if to attack the stranger.

"Down, down!" cried Nic; and they stopped.

"It's all right now; they shan't fight. Here, I'll show you. You ketch hold of this, sir."

Samson took an old pitchfork from where it stood in a corner, handed it to Nic, and then, somewhat to the boy's dismay, took hold of the big dog's collar with both hands, and set it free by dragging the strap over its ears.

Then for a moment there were threatenings of a fight, but a shout from Samson checked the turbulent spirit.

"Give Nib a rap over the head with that fork shaft if he don't mind you, sir. He's hard as iron, so you may hit sharp. Couldn't break you, Nib, eh?"

The dog looked up and uttered a short bark. "Here, Master Nic,"

whispered the old man with a grin: "go closely to him and say sharply, 'Kangaroo!'"

Nic did as he was told, and the dog gave a tremendous bound and stood looking wildly round, ending by running back with a deep-toned bark, looking up at him as much as to say, "Where?"

"Gone, Nib!" cried Samson. "Now follow the young master, and he'll give you some breakfast."

The little old fellow led the way, Nic followed, and the three dogs came behind, Nibbler with a collie on either side, keeping up a low muttering growl, which sounded like threats of what they would do if the big dog interfered with their master. To which Nibbler responded by some language of his own, and leering looks to either side, as if in search of spots where there was not so much hair when he began to nibble.

Samson stopped at the far end of the farthest shed, where there was a little lean-to; and on raising a wooden latch and throwing open the door, there within hung half a sheep, with the skin on a peg, and a chopping-block and a hatchet in the middle.

"Slaughterhouse, sir," said Samson, with a grin. "'Bliged to be our own butchers out here,--fishermen too. S'pose you'll ketch our fish now?

Mind chopping off some o' that sheep while I hold it on the block?"

"I? No," said Nic.

"That's your sort!" said the man, lifting the half sheep from a hook fastened in the beam overhead. "Emmygrunts does anything. I want you to chop off that lyne, and then cut it in three bits for the dogs."

"Then you don't only give them bones?" said Nic.

"Gives dogs what we've got plenty on. It's mutton now. We don't want this to spyle. It was alive and well yes'day, but a couple o' dingoes hunted the pore thing down. Hi! Nib, what come o' them dingoes?"

"_R-r-r-r-ur_," snarled the big dog fiercely.

"Ay, you did, mate. He gave them dingo, sir. These wild dogs is one of our biggest noosances after the sheep. Now, please chop straight. Well done, sir! There's three. Take care. That chopper's very sharp. Now through there and there. That's right. Three bits. I was going to bury half on it, for it won't keep mor'n two nights; but your two sheep, dogs'll help him. We'll feed 'em up a bit for two or three days, and then starve 'em for two or three more to put it straight. Now then, sir, you stick the fork into they three bits, and you shall feed 'em, that'll clinch old Nibbler's making friends with you. See?"

Nic nodded.

"Look," said Samson: "he knows what I've been saying."

The dog, which was sitting watching, with a collie on either side--the latter evidently in doubt as to whether the joints were intended for the house--gave a deep bark.

"Now give him the biggest bit, sir."

Nic stuck the fork in the piece of loin and held it out to the big dog, and it came and took it with a low muttering sound, wagging its tail slowly from side to side, while the collies grew excited, growled, and tossed up their heads to utter a protesting whine.

"Here, you, Nib, wait," cried Samson. "Give t'other two their bits, sir."

Nic served each collie, and then stared at what followed.

"Now then!" cried Samson, "take it out in the back and eat it. Show your chums the way. Right off. No messing about nigh the house. Off with you!"

The big dog uttered a low growl, and went off with its breakfast, the collies following; all three looking decidedly comic with their jaws distended.

"There you are, sir," said the old man, wiping the chopper very carefully and then sticking it into the big clean block. "Seems a pity.

Beautiful mutton. The brutes had only just pulled it down when Nib was on to 'em. Leather called me to see. It was half-hour's walk, and there he was sitting by the sheep, and the two dead dingoes close by."

"Didn't he begin worrying it?" asked Nic.

"Him, sir? Nibbler worry a sheep? Not him. Why, I've seen him lie down and let the lambs play about him. I should like to ketch him at it. Not him, sir: I eddicated that dog. There ain't his like nowhere.

Coming along o' me, Master Nic?"

"Yes: I want to see all about the place."

"That's right. Ah, you're a lucky one: it's all ready for you. When me and master come there was just nothing; and now see what it is. Look what a garden we're getting. Here, Brooky! Did you bring in the cows?"

"Yes.--'Mornin', sir," said the man.

"'Morning. Tired after your journey?"

"Wonder if I warn't!" said the man. "I had everything to do. Look ye here, Sam: next time waggon goes up to town you'll come too, and so I tell the master."

"What's the matter, matey?"

"Heverything. That there Leather's no good at all. I have to do all the work, and I won't stand it."

"Why, I thought Leather did more than you," cried Nic. "I noticed it as we came; but you always grumbled at him."

Samson showed his yellow teeth and chuckled.

"Don't you be sarcy, sir," growled Brookes; "and what are you crowin'

at, old Sam? You needn't begin makin' a noise like a laughin' jacka.s.s.

Something's going to be changed, or I goes to another station."

"Goin' now?" shouted Samson, as the man strode off angrily.

"Never you mind," growled Brookes; and he disappeared round a barn-like structure.

"He's got his knife into Leather," said Samson, chuckling. "Strange, disagreeable sort o' chap, Brookes, sir. Leather's sour as Devon crabs; but I will say this on him: he do work, and work well. But yah! a hangel couldn't satisfy Bill Brookes. Reg'lar curds-and-whey sort o'

fellow. But don't you stand none o' that, sir," continued the old man seriously. "You're young master: you let him have it for telling you not to be sarcy. He wouldn't ha' said it to me; and if you don't check him I shall tell the master. Bill Brookes wants to play first fiddle here; but he can't and won't. I'm foreman; and if I've on'y got a little body, Master Nic, I've got a will as big as Bill Brookes's, and bigger too. Now I'll go and feed the pigs."

This highly interesting piece of business was gone through, Samson mixing up some meal and water, pouring it into the troughs, and belabouring the greedy animals with the mealy stick.