George Storefield's place, for the old man was dead and all the place belonged to him and Gracey, quite stunned Jim and me.

We'd been away more than a year, and he'd pulled down the old fences and put up new ones--first-rate work it was too; he was always a dead hand at splitting.

Then there was a big hay-shed, chock-full of good sweet hay and wheat sheaves, and, last of all, the new stable, with six stalls and a loft above, and racks, all built of ironbark slabs, as solid and reg'lar as a church, Jim said.
They'd a good six-roomed cottage and a new garden fence ever so long.
There were more fruit trees in the garden and a lot of good draught horses standing about, that looked well, but as if they'd come off a journey.
The stable door opens, and out comes old George as hearty as ever, but looking full of business.
'Glad to see you, boys,' he says; 'what a time you've been away! Been away myself these three months with a lot of teams carrying.

I've taken greatly to the business lately.

I'm just settling up with my drivers, but put the horses in, there's chaff and corn in the mangers, and I'll be down in a few minutes.