What'll you do, my lad?
He's gone to Dillon's, for a silver pound; he'll make up his tale, and it means the cat." Leather sank back against the wall, and gazed wildly toward the house.
"If it was me I'd take to the bush, and--" "What! not face it out!" cried the convict fiercely.

"Own that I was in the wrong! Not if they flog me and send me back to the gang." The sudden excitement passed away, and the convict sank sidewise to the floor, perfectly insensible, for he had fainted dead away.
"And I thought I was going to have a good quiet day's gardening!" said old Sam.

"There's hundreds o' things wants doing badly, and I'm 'bliged to give up my time to cultivate convicts.

I wish to goodness the master was at home; then all this mess wouldn't ha' took place." But as the old man muttered he kept on acting.

Taking some fresh water, he bathed the convict's temples and tried hard to revive him.
"Give you a clean face if it don't give you a clean character, my lad.
I don't like you because you're a convict, that's all.