Page:Triangles of life, and other stories.djvu/212



T was a long time before we knew for certain that Mary's brother James was shook after Maggie Charlesworth, the girl from Wall's station. James always kept his business and his feelings to himself, if he had any—I suppose he had. Perhaps he felt as much as, or more than, the most of us, but hadn't the gift of expression, and felt and suffered more on that account—but that's got nothing to do with it.

Maggie was a sort of adopted daughter at Wall's, and took a great fancy to Mary, my wife, as all the girls and most of the women did. She used to ride over to our place two or three times on weekdays and always on Sunday afternoon. Mary and Maggie were great chums. Maggie was a big, fine-looking Bush girl—a rare lump of a girl. A regular tomboy, she used to be, they said, and chummy with every one, and they said she used to tuck her petticoats under her when she thought she was alone, and gallop through the Bush, riding man fashion. In fact, they said she never got used to the side-saddle.

Even Mary, a woman, and Maggie's friend, and Rh