"It must be at the back door," I urged; adding, "that is the short cut down the valley, where bushrangers would be most likely to come." "Bushrangers, you silly child!" laughed F----.

"It's most likely a belated swagger, or else somebody who is playing us a trick." However as he spoke a succession of fierce and loud knocks resounded through the whole house.

"It must be at the kitchen door," F---- said.

"Come along, and stand well behind me when I open the door." But we never opened the door; for on our way through the kitchen, with its high-pitched and unceiled roof,--a very cavern for echoes,--we discovered the source of the noise, and of our fright.

Within a large wooden packing-case lay a poor little lamb, and its dying throes had wakened us all up, as it kicked expiring kicks violently against the side of the box.