Andrew Robertson, Nuggets in the Devil's Punch Bowl…
“ There was an envelope, and the postmark was Melbourne."Not much clue," said Bill; "nameless, so far." The man, evidently, by the clay smears on his trousers, and by the general appearance of his clothes, was a digger."I saw a tent in my dream, so I'll look for it," said Bill.He went along the little track for a hundred yards, and there, behind some stunted bushes, stood a weather-stained, ragged tent. Everything about it was squalid, unkempt, unwashed, and unlovely. The only bit of sentiment, or romance if you will, was a photograph of a girl, pinned to the tent, at the head of the bed. ”
