Once or twice they made a day’s excursion to Bairnsdale—going up by the early steamer through the morning freshness of lake and river, spending a few hours in the pleasant town on the bank of the Mitchell, and returning in the afternoon—no longer the tired strangers that had made the first journey in the spring, but worthy settlers happily coming home.  The peach orchards had flung a dress of palest pink over the sunny Bairnsdale hillsides when they first came: now they were densely green, with splendid fruit turning rosy under the leaves; and the flats along the backwater were bearing stately crops of maize.  It was pleasant to be in a town again; to wander about the wide streets and trim gardens, and to see new faces; and to dine at an hotel was a real excitement—not to know, as Aileen said joyfully, what the pudding would be, nor to care who would wash up afterwards!  But there was happiness in going home to the little house on the hill, where the bright sitting-room smiled a welcome, and even Horrors’ stolid face would expand into a grin as they approached. Nothing would ever make Horrors intelligent. But kindness and cleanliness had had a softening effect upon him, and he had developed a queer, dog-like affection for them all.