A half-inquiring, half-incredulous look crossed the frank face of the fine old believer, followed by one of his evanescent frowns.
"Why, d—n it, man, have n't I arranged that already with Bob here?" said he, resuming a normal position on the seat, and taking the reins from his companion's hand. "We're going straight to the Dead Man's Bend. Never you fear; I'll see Morris through."
"I'll never forget your kindness, Mr. Stewart."
"Nonsense. But is n't it a most remarkable thing—what we're too apt to call a mere coincidence? Here I find Bob footsore, through walking in bad boots; and while I'm wondering what in the devil's name to do with him, you tell me of Morris; and I see immediately why Bob was placed in my way. It's the legislation of an unsleeping Providence, Collins—nothing short of it. We meet with these Divine adjustments of circumstances every day of our lives, if we only choose to recognise them. Thinking over these things makes me feel devilish small in my own eyes, but all the more confident, knowing that not a sparrow falls to the ground without—Oh, d—n it! look where the sun has got to! Good-bye! I might n't see you again. I've sold Kooltopa."
"Surely not!"
"Ay. Crowded-out. Going to Queensland. They'll tell you about it at Poondoo. Good-bye."
"Good-bye, Mr. Stewart."
