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fied Christian smile, was so unlike a poor labourer toiling
through the heat and burden of the day, that good Mrs.
Jellicoe, the wife of an orthodox Comptroller of Convicts’
Stores, felt a horrible thrill of momentary heresy. ‘I would
rather have remained in England,’ continued Mr. Meekin,
smoothing one lavender finger with the tip of another, and
arching his elegant eyebrows in mild deprecation of any
praise of his self-denial, ‘but I felt it my duty not to refuse the
offer made me through the kindness of his lordship. Here
is a field, leddies— a field for the Christian pastor. They ap-
peal to me, leddies, these lambs of our Church—these lost
and outcast lambs of our Church.’
Mrs. Jellicoe shook her gay bonnet ribbons at Mr. Meekin,
with a hearty smile. ‘You don’t know our convicts,’ she said
(from the tone of her jolly voice it might have been ‘our cat-
tle’). ‘They are horrible creatures. And as for servants—my
goodness, I have a fresh one every week. When you have
been here a little longer, you will know them better, Mr.
Meekin.’
‘They are quite unbearable at times.’ said Mrs. Prother-
ick, the widow of a Superintendent of Convicts’ Barracks,
with a stately indignation mantling in her sallow cheeks. ‘I
am ordinarily the most patient creature breathing, but I do
confess that the stupid vicious wretches that one gets are
enough to put a saint out of temper.’ ‘We have all our cross-
es, dear leddies—all our crosses,’ said the Rev. Mr. Meekin
piously. ‘Heaven send us strength to bear them! Good-
morning.’
‘Why, you are going our way,’ said Mrs. Jellicoe. ‘We can

For the Term of His Natural Life