letter I received some time ago reminded me of a promise I once made

to an old friend at home, that I would take his son on my station. He says it’s his only son, who will enter into no profession, loves horses, and can ‘rough it’ to any extent. I know what _that_ means by experience,” growled Bell. “Anyhow he comes—‘The Honourable Lionel Fulrake;’ the ship was in a week ago. We will do our best to welcome him anyhow, and we shall soon see how he ‘shapes.’”

A few hours after this conversation, Mat was in his room tidying up his things, arranging his “manavlins,” as Tom dubbed his odds and ends, when the sound of wheels caught his ear; so he stole round the building to see who had arrived.

A buggy and pair of horses, driven by a coachman in livery, was just pulling up at the verandah. The vehicle was laden, or rather piled up, with every conceivable description of luggage: portmanteaux, hatboxes, guns, fishing-rods, a tent, and, perched on the top of all, an enormous canteen.

Presently, a young man could be seen clearing out of these impedimenta, and descending the vehicle. “What a swell!” thought Mat; and the new arrival certainly _was_, if one judged by his clothes: a tall white hat, an irreproachable collar, a scarf with two pins in it, dust coat, nankeen trousers, and patent boots.

“Brought over in a bandbox,” whispered Tom, who had joined Mat in the inspection. “I don’t think _he_ will ‘shape’ much!”

“I don’t know,” rejoined his companion; “I’ve seen swells just like him at home, and I’ve seen them _fight_!”

Mr. Fulrake, for he it was, had now ascended to the verandah, and, looking about for a bell, but finding none, subsided languidly into a “squatter,” and lit a cigarette.

Having finished this without seeing anyone, he got up to examine the house, and finally entered a room, which happened to be the one occupied by the ladies and the squire.

“Welcome to Bulinda!” said Bell, coming forward. “I know it must be Mr. Fulrake from the family likeness!”

“Thanks!” replied the new arrival, as he exchanged bows with Mrs. Bell and her daughter. “I’ve been outside for about a quarter of an hour; couldn’t find any one, you know. Will you send the servant to bring in my luggage?”

“All right,” returned Bell; “we’ll get in your traps, but it’s not _here_. I’ll tell the man to drive round to the bachelors’ quarters; your room is all ready there. Sorry we never heard you come. You should have walked in at once!”

“Thanks! I’m awfully tired with that jolting cart!”

“Well, then, rest here; the ladies will look after you!”

Saying which, the squire went out, called his son and Mat, and with their help proceeded to attack the pile of luggage.

Our “new chum’s” appearance was distinctly _striking_, in one especial peculiarity—that of his _hair_. It was the lightest possible hair ever seen, almost white in colour, whilst his moustache and the down on his cheeks was only a shade darker. The contour of his delicately pink-hued face denoted an equal mixture of good temper and languor, whilst a pair of thin legs supported an apparently frail body, and a pair of remarkably long arms.

As soon as the squire had disappeared, Fulrake threw himself into an easy armchair, which Annie offered him, and, first gazing in a vacant sort of way round the room, prepared to rest himself, and answer questions.

“’Ad you a good passage,” inquired Mrs. Bell.

“Pretty fair, only a horribly dirty ship, not a very first-class lot of people on board, bad cook, and all that sort of thing, don’t you know.”

“You must find your first impressions out here rather different to those of the old country—we live in a very simple way, you know, Mr. Fulrake.”

“Oh, well, it’s rather hot, and all that sort of thing, but I’m rather used to roughing it, you know—led quite a wild life in Norway, had to cook my own food.”

“You did not find that so _very_ hard, did you,” inquired Annie, with a smile; “how long had you to do it?”

“Why, quite three weeks, last time I was there.”

“_Dear me_, but could you not find any one to cook?”

“As a matter of fact, there _was_ a man with me, but he was so dirty I would not let him cook, and my interpreter pretended he _couldn’t_.”

“I really do not think you were so badly off with two men,” remarked Annie, “unless, of course, you had any _real_ discomforts.”

“Yes, but I had, though. One night I got drenched, and had to have my clothes dried at the canteen fire; never travel without a portable stove. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and get a change and hot bath, I’m so dusty, don’t you know.”

“_Well_,” said Annie, as soon as he had gone, “‘Mr. Matter-of-fact don’t you know,’ has a pretty good opinion of himself and his personal comforts, I should think, with his short answers, too; what do _you_ think, mother.”

“My dear, I don’t like your talking in that light way about him, he is evidently a gentleman of good education and talents, and we _know_ that he comes of a good family. We have seen little of him as yet, I’ve no _doubt_ but what he speaks Fren—, no, I mean I daresay you will like him when you know him better, you must take him in hand a little.”

“_Me!_” answered Annie, in a tone of scorn, “_me_ take him in hand! No thank you; my opinion is, that at his best he’s an amusing _fop_—what a funny-looking little creature he is. But don’t you think, my dear mother, that you are rather too fond of being taken with strangers directly you see them? remember that wretched sham Frenchman.”

“Yes, yes, my dear; there, you know I never can abide an argument, but only remember that Mr. Fulrake is a thorough-bred English gentleman.”

Meantime, Fulrake had been shown the way to his room, and entering it, sat down perfectly aghast, uttering his thoughts out loud. “Why, hang it, no better than a Norwegian log-hut—worse—earthen floor! no armchair! no toilet-table! no bell! no _nothing_!” “Hi, you there,” he called out, hearing some one in the next apartment.

And a man in moleskin trousers, and flannel shirt with sleeves tucked up, appeared at his summons.

“I want a warm bath, and my things put out, and a dressing-table, and above all a glass.”

“All right,” said Mat, for he it was, “I’ll speak to the squire, a glass of _what_ shall I tell him, he only keeps whisky.”

“Idiot,” was on Fulrake’s lips, but on second thoughts, he said, “a _looking_-glass, please.”

“Queer place and queer people,” he muttered, as Mat disappeared. “What a rummy sort of flunky! and who on earth is the squire, I wonder?”

However, as Bell never appeared, he had to unpack his boxes himself, and after much hunting and bad language, got out his dress clothes, but without the aid of a looking-glass he could neither arrange his moustaches nor put on his tie.

“The bath I’ll go without for once,” he said, “but a glass I must, and _will_ have.”

After considerable searching, he found the segment of a looking-glass containing a minimum degree of quicksilver; and finally he reached the house as the family were sitting down to supper.

Upon arriving in the room, he was introduced to Parson Tabor, Tom, and Mat, with all of whom he exchanged bows.

“Is this the fellow,” he thought, as he eyed our forester, “that I took for the ‘bush flunky,’ I suppose though they have their servants in to dinner in these parts; at least he’s had the decency to change his things, and put on a collar.”