Update <hgroup> children after first <h#> to <p>, ref. new HTML standard

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 		<section id="chapter-1" epub:type="chapter">
 			<hgroup>
 				<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h2>
-				<h3 epub:type="title">Gangoil</h3>
+				<p epub:type="title">Gangoil</p>
 			</hgroup>
 			<p>Just a fortnight before Christmas, 1871, a young man, twenty-four years of age, returned home to his dinner about eight o’clock in the evening. He was married, and with him and his wife lived his wife’s sister. At that somewhat late hour he walked in among the two young women, and another much older woman who was preparing the table for dinner. The wife and the wife’s sister each had a child in her lap, the elder having seen some fifteen months of its existence, and the younger three months. “He has been out since seven, and I don’t think he’s had a mouthful,” the wife had just said. “Oh, Harry, you must be half starved,” she exclaimed, jumping up to greet him, and throwing her arm round his bare neck.</p>
 			<p>“I’m about whole melted,” he said, as he kissed her. “In the name of charity give me a nobbler. I did get a bit of damper and a pannikin of tea up at the German’s hut; but I never was so hot or so thirsty in my life. We’re going to have it in earnest this time. Old Bates says that when the gum leaves crackle, as they do now, before Christmas, there won’t be a blade of grass by the end of February.”</p>

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 		<section id="chapter-10" epub:type="chapter">
 			<hgroup>
 				<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">X</h2>
-				<h3 epub:type="title">Harry Heathcote Returns in Triumph</h3>
+				<p epub:type="title">Harry Heathcote Returns in Triumph</p>
 			</hgroup>
 			<p>When the fight was quite over, and Heathcote’s party had returned to their horses, Medlicot for a few minutes was faint and sick, but he revived after a while, and declared himself able to sit on his horse. There was a difficulty in getting him up, but when there he made no further complaint.</p>
 			<p>“This,” said he, as he settled himself in his saddle, “is my first Christmas Day in Australia. I landed early in January, and last year I was on my way home to fetch my mother.”</p>

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 		<section id="chapter-11" epub:type="chapter">
 			<hgroup>
 				<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">XI</h2>
-				<h3 epub:type="title">Sergeant Forrest</h3>
+				<p epub:type="title">Sergeant Forrest</p>
 			</hgroup>
 			<p>The Brownbie party returned, after their midnight raid, in great discomfiture to Boolabong. Their leader, Jerry, was burned about his hands and face in a disagreeable and unsightly manner. Joe had hardly made good that character for “fighting it out to the end,” for which he was apt to claim credit; Boscobel was altogether disconcerted by his fall; and Nokes, who had certainly shown no aptitude for the fray, was abused by them all as having caused their retreat by his cowardice; while Sing Sing, the runaway cook, who knew that he had forfeited his wages at Gangoil, was forced to turn over in his heathenish mind the ill effects of joining the losing side. “You big fool, Bos,” he said more than once to his friend the woodsman, who had lured him away from the comforts of Gangoil. “I’ll punch your head, John, if you don’t hold your row,” Boscobel would reply. But Sing Sing went on with his reproaches, and, before they had reached Boolabong, Boscobel had punched the Chinaman’s head.</p>
 			<p>“You’re not coming in here,” Jerry said to Nokes, when they reached the yard gate.</p>

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 		<section id="chapter-12" epub:type="chapter">
 			<hgroup>
 				<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">XII</h2>
-				<h3 epub:type="title">Conclusion</h3>
+				<p epub:type="title">Conclusion</p>
 			</hgroup>
 			<p>The constables had started from Gangoil, on their way to Boolabong, a little after four, and from that time till he was made to get out of bed for his dinner Harry Heathcote was allowed to sleep. He had richly earned his rest by his work, and he lay motionless, without a sound, in the broad daylight, with his arm under his head⁠—dreaming, no doubt, of some happy squatting land, in which there were no free-selectors, no fires, no rebellious servants, no floods, no droughts, no wild dogs to worry the lambs, no grass seeds to get into the fleeces, and in which the price of wool stood steady at two shillings and sixpence a pound. His wife from time to time came into the room, shading the light from his eyes, protecting him from the flies, and administering in her soft way to what she thought might be his comforts. His sleep was of the kind which no light, nor even flies, can interrupt. Once or twice she stooped down and kissed his brow, but he was altogether unconscious of her caress.</p>
 			<p>During this time old <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Medlicot arrived; but her coming did not awake the sleeper, though it was by no means made in silence. The old woman sobbed and cried over her son, at the same time expressing her thankfulness that he should have turned up in the forest so exactly at the proper moment⁠—evidently taking part in the conviction that her Giles had saved Gangoil and all its sheep. And then there were all the necessary arrangements to be made for the night, in accordance with which almost everybody had to give up his or her bed and sleep somewhere else. But nothing disturbed Harry. For the present he was allowed to occupy his own room, and he enjoyed the privilege.</p>

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 		<section id="chapter-2" epub:type="chapter">
 			<hgroup>
 				<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">II</h2>
-				<h3 epub:type="title">A Night’s Ride</h3>
+				<p epub:type="title">A Night’s Ride</p>
 			</hgroup>
 			<p>Harry jumped from the ground, kissed his wife, called her “old girl,” and told her to be happy, and got on his horse at the garden gate. Both the ladies came off the veranda to see him start.</p>
 			<p>“It’s as dark as pitch,” said Kate Daly.</p>

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 		<section id="chapter-3" epub:type="chapter">
 			<hgroup>
 				<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">III</h2>
-				<h3 epub:type="title">Medlicot’s Mill</h3>
+				<p epub:type="title">Medlicot’s Mill</p>
 			</hgroup>
 			<p>As Harry said, they might all now lie in bed for a day or two. The rain had set aside for the time the necessity for that urgent watchfulness which kept all hands on the station hard at work during the great heat. There was not, generally, much rest during the year at Gangoil. Lambing in April and May, washing and shearing in September, October, and November, with the fear of fires and the necessary precautions in December and January, did not leave more than sufficient intervals for looking after the water-dams, making and mending fences, procuring stores, and attending to the ailments of the flocks. No man worked harder than the young squatter. But now there had suddenly come a day or two of rest⁠—rest from work which was not of itself productive, but only remedial, and which, therefore, was not begrudged.</p>
 			<p>But it soon was apparent that the rest could be only for a day or two. The rain had fallen as from ten thousand buckets, but it had fallen only for a space of minutes. On the following morning the thirsty earth had apparently swallowed all the flood. The water in the creek beneath the house stood two feet higher than it had done, and Harry, when he visited the dams round the run, found that they were fall to overflowing, and the grasses were already springing, so quick is the all but tropical growth of the country. They might be safe, perhaps, for eight-and-forty hours. Fire would run only when the ground was absolutely dry, and when every twig or leaf was a combustible. But during those eight-and-forty hours there might be comparative ease at Gangoil.</p>

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 		<section id="chapter-4" epub:type="chapter">
 			<hgroup>
 				<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">IV</h2>
-				<h3 epub:type="title">Harry Heathcote’s Appeal</h3>
+				<p epub:type="title">Harry Heathcote’s Appeal</p>
 			</hgroup>
 			<p>For the first mile between the wool-shed and the house Heathcote and the two ladies rode without saying a word. There was something so terrible in the reality of the danger which encompassed them that they hardly felt inclined to discuss it. Harry’s dislike to Medlicot was quite a thing apart. That someone had intended to burn down the wool-shed, and had made preparation for doing so, was as apparent to the women as to him. And the man who had been balked by a shower of rain in his first attempt might soon find an opportunity for a second. Harry was well aware that even Jacko’s assertion could not be taken as evidence against the man whom he suspected. In all probability no further attempt would be made upon the wool-shed; but a fire on some distant part of the run would be much more injurious to him than the mere burning of a building. The fire that might ruin him would be one which should get ahead before it was seen, and scour across the ground, consuming the grass down to the very roots over thousands of acres, and destroying fencing over many miles. Such fires pass on, leaving the standing trees unscathed, avoiding even the scrub, which is too moist with the sap of life for consumption, but licking up with fearful rapidity everything that the sun has dried. He could watch the wool-shed and house, but with no possible care could he so watch the whole run as to justify him in feeling security. There need be no preparation of leaves. A match thrown loosely on the ground would do it. And in regard to a match so thrown, it would be impossible to prove a guilty intention.</p>
 			<p>“Ought we not to have dispersed the heap?” said <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Heathcote at last.</p>

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 		<section id="chapter-5" epub:type="chapter">
 			<hgroup>
 				<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">V</h2>
-				<h3 epub:type="title">Boscobel</h3>
+				<p epub:type="title">Boscobel</p>
 			</hgroup>
 			<p>Two days and two nights passed without fear of fire, and then Harry Heathcote was again on the alert. The earth was parched as though no drop of rain had fallen. The fences were dry as tinder, and the ground was strewed with broken atoms of timber from the trees, each of which a spark would ignite. Two nights Harry slept in his bed, but on the third he was on horseback about the run, watching, thinking, endeavouring to make provision, directing others, and hoping to make it believed that his eyes were everywhere. In this way an entire week was passed, and now it wanted but four days to Christmas. He would come home to breakfast about seven in the morning, very tired, but never owning that he was tired, and then sleep heavily for an hour or two in a chair. After that he would go out again on the run, would sleep perhaps for another hour after dinner, and then would start for his night’s patrol. During this week he saw nothing of Medlicot, and never mentioned his name but once. On that occasion his wife told him that during his absence Medlicot had been at the station.</p>
 			<p>“What brought him here?” Harry asked, fiercely.</p>

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 		<section id="chapter-6" epub:type="chapter">
 			<hgroup>
 				<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">VI</h2>
-				<h3 epub:type="title">The Brownbies of Boolabong</h3>
+				<p epub:type="title">The Brownbies of Boolabong</p>
 			</hgroup>
 			<p>Old Brownbie, as he was usually called, was a squatter also, but a squatter of a class very different from that to which Heathcote belonged. He had begun his life in the colonies a little under a cloud, having been sent out from home after the perpetration of some peccadillo of which the law had disapproved. In colonial phrase, he was a “lag”⁠—having been transported; but this was many years ago, when he was quite young; and he had now been a free man for more than thirty years. It must be owned on his behalf that he had worked hard, had endeavoured to rise, and had risen. But there still stuck to him the savour of his old life. Everyone knew that he had been a convict; and even had he become a man of high principle⁠—a condition which he certainly never achieved⁠—he could hardly have escaped altogether from the thralldom of his degradation. He had been a butcher, a drover, part owner of stock, and had at last become possessed of a share of a cattle-run, and then of the entire property, such as it was. He had four or five sons, uneducated, ill-conditioned, drunken fellows, who had all their father’s faults without his energy, some of whom had been in prison, and all of whom were known as pests to the colony. Their place was called Boolabong, and was a cattle-run, as distinguished from a sheep-run; but it was a poor place, was sometimes altogether unstocked, and was supposed to be not unfrequently used as a receptable for stolen cattle. The tricks which the Brownbies played with cattle were notorious throughout Queensland and New South Wales, and by a certain class of men were much admired. They would drive a few head of cattle⁠—perhaps forty or fifty⁠—for miles around the country, across one station and another, traveling many hundreds of miles, and here and there, as they passed along, they would sweep into their own herd the bullocks of the victims whose lands they passed. If detected on the spot, they gave up their prey. They were in the right in moving their own cattle, and were not responsible for the erratic tendencies of other animals. If successful, they either sold their stolen beasts to butchers on the road, or got them home to Boolabong. There were dangers, of course, and occasional penalties. But there was much success. It was supposed, also, that though they did not own sheep, they preferred mutton for their daily uses, and that they supplied themselves at a very cheap rate. It may be imagined how such a family would be hated by the respectable squatters on whom they preyed. Still there were men⁠—old stagers, who had know Moreton Bay before it was a colony, in the old days when convicts were common⁠—who almost regarded the Brownbies as a part of the common order of things, and who were indisposed to persecute them. Men must live; and what were a few sheep? Of some such it might be said, that though they were above the arts by which the Brownbies lived, they were not very scrupulous themselves; and it perhaps served them to have within their ken neighbours whose morality was lower even than their own. But to such a one as Harry Heathcote the Brownbies were utterly abominable. He was for the law and justice at any cost. To his thinking, the Colonial Government was grossly at fault, because it did not weed out and extirpate not only the identical Brownbies, but all Brownbieism wherever it might be found. A dishonest workman was a great evil, but, to his thinking, a dishonest man in the position of master was the incarnation of evil. As to the difficulties of evidence, and obstacles of that nature, Harry Heathcote knew nothing. The Brownbies were rascals, and should therefore be exterminated.</p>
 			<p>And the Brownbies knew well the estimation in which their neighbour held them. Harry had made himself altogether disagreeable to them. They were squatters as well as he⁠—or at least so they termed themselves; and though they would not have expected to be admitted to home intimacies, they thought that when they were met out-of-doors or in public places, they should be treated with some respect. On such occasions Harry treated them as though they were dirt beneath his feet. The Brownbies would be found, whenever a little money came among them, at the public billiard-rooms and racecourses within 150 miles of Boolabong. At such places Harry Heathcote was never seen. It would have been as easy to seduce the Bishop of Brisbane into a bet as Harry Heathcote. He had never even drank a nobbler with one of the Brownbies. To their thinking, he was a proud, stuck-up, unsocial young cub, whom to rob was a pleasure, and to ruin would be a delight.</p>

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 		<section id="chapter-7" epub:type="chapter">
 			<hgroup>
 				<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">VII</h2>
-				<h3 epub:type="title">“I Wish You’d Like Me”</h3>
+				<p epub:type="title">“I Wish You’d Like Me”</p>
 			</hgroup>
 			<p>All the Saturday night Heathcote had been on the run, and he did not return home to bed till nearly dawn on the Sunday morning. At about noon prayers were read out on the veranda, the congregation consisting of <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Heathcote and her sister, <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Growler, and Jacko. Harry himself was rather averse to this performance, intimating that <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Growler, if she were so minded, could read the prayers for herself in the kitchen, and that, as regarded Jacko, they would be altogether thrown away. But his wife had made a point of maintaining the practice, and he had of course yielded. The service was not long, and when it was over Harry got into a chair and was soon asleep. He had been in the saddle during sixteen hours of the previous day and night, and was entitled to be fatigued. His wife sat beside him, every now and again protecting him from the flies, while Kate Daly sat by with her Bible in her hand. But she, too, from time to time, was watching her brother-in-law. The trouble of his spirits and the work that he felt himself bound to do touched them with a strong feeling, and taught them to regard him for the time as a young hero.</p>
 			<p>“How quietly he sleeps!” Kate said. “The fatigue of the last week must have been terrible.”</p>

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 		<section id="chapter-8" epub:type="chapter">
 			<hgroup>
 				<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">VIII</h2>
-				<h3 epub:type="title">“I Do Wish He Would Come!”</h3>
+				<p epub:type="title">“I Do Wish He Would Come!”</p>
 			</hgroup>
 			<p>On the Monday morning Harry came home as usual, and, as usual, went to bed after his breakfast. “I wouldn’t care about the heat if it were not for the wind,” he said to his wife, as he threw himself down.</p>
 			<p>“The wind carries it so, I suppose.”</p>

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 		<section id="chapter-9" epub:type="chapter">
 			<hgroup>
 				<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">IX</h2>
-				<h3 epub:type="title">The Bush Fight</h3>
+				<p epub:type="title">The Bush Fight</p>
 			</hgroup>
 			<p>Harry Heathcote had on this occasion entertained no doubt whatever that the fire had been intentional and premeditated. A lighted torch must have been dragged along the grass, so as to ignite a line many yards long all at the same time. He had been luckily near enough to the spot to see almost the commencement of the burning, and was therefore aware of its form and circumstances. He almost wondered that he had not seen the figure of the man who had drawn the torch, or at any rate heard his steps. Pursuit would have been out of the question, as his work was wanted at the moment to extinguish the flames. The miscreant probably had remembered this, and had known that he might escape stealthily without the noise of a rapid retreat.</p>
 			<p>When the work was over, when he had put out the fire he had himself lighted, and had exterminated the lingering remnants of that which had been intended to destroy him, he stood still a while almost in despair. His condition seemed to be hopeless. What could he do against such a band of enemies, knowing as he did that, had he been backed even by a score of trusty followers, one foe might still suffice to ruin him? At the present moment he was very hot with the work he had done, as were also Jacko and the German. O’Dowd had also come up as they were completing their work. Their mode of extinguishing the flames had been to beat them down with branches of gum-tree loaded with leaves. By sweeping these along the burning ground the low flames would be scattered and expelled. But the work was very hard and hot. The boughs they used were heavy, and the air around them, sultry enough from its own properties, was made almost unbearable by the added heat of the fires.</p>