No sooner had the sun shown its hot face than we heard a commotion in front of the store, but we remained seated at our table leisurely eating breakfast, and pretending that we cared but little for the excitement in the street.  Presently a police officer put his head in at the door and shouted out,—­

“I say, you!”

“Well, what say you?” asked Fred, without moving.

“The commissioner wants to speak to you instantly.”

“Well, tell him to come in,” I responded.

“He can’t; he’s ’ossback.”

“And we are at breakfast,” Fred cried.

“He’s in a hurry.”

“So are we.”

“Will you come?”

“Certainly; after we have finished eating our breakfast.”

The fellow uttered an oath, and withdrew his head to report to his superior officer.  In a few minutes afterwards we heard the heavy steps of men approaching us, and looking up we saw the dark face of the commissioner, and the bull-dog countenance of Colonel Kellum, who had command of the military in Ballarat.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Fred said, rising, and placing chairs for our visitors.

A brief nod was the only sign of recognition that was returned, but the chairs were not accepted.

“To what are we indebted for this early visit?” Fred asked.

“We have come, sir, for—­”

The commissioner had proceeded thus far, when he seemed confused, and stopped.  He may have felt that he was about to commit an unjustifiable outrage, and wished the colonel to share half of the responsibility.

“The fact is, sir,” the military man exclaimed, most pompously, “we want your horses in the name of the government.”

“Our horses, did you say?” Fred asked, with a sweet smile.

“That’s what I said, sir,” the colonel replied, swelling with bad blood and dignity.

“I think, that you are mistaken, sir, as we are not the owners of any such kind of animals,” Fred answered.

“Why, what do you call them, sir?” the colonel cried, triumphantly, pointing to the unconscious brutes, who were eating their provender in the stable which we had built just adjoining the store.

“Those are horses, certainly, sir, but they don’t belong to us.”

His face was a picture when he replied, it was so gentle, and appeared so bland and courteous, as though he would not offend for the world.

CHAPTER LXXXII.

SAME CONTINUED.—­DEATH OF ROSS.

“Young man,” cried the colonel, his face swelling as though the hot blood would burst through its thin covering, “do you mean to tell me that those animals do not belong to you or your partner?”

“In the first place,” answered Fred, with quiet dignity, “my name is Frederick ——­, and I desire to be addressed as such in our communications, and not by the ambiguous title of ‘young man.’  In the next place, as I told you before, we are not the owners of those animals.”