Part 6 (1/2)

Although Mac's description of the House had been apt, he had sadly underrated the furniture. There were FOUR chairs, all ”up” to my weight, while two of them were up to the Maluka's. The cane was all gone, certainly, but had been replaced with green-hide seats (not green in colour, of course, only green in experience, never having seen a tan-pit). In addition to the chairs, the dining-table, the four-poster bed, the wire mattress, and the looking gla.s.s, there was a solid deal side table, made from the side of a packing-case, with four solid legs and a solid shelf underneath, also a remarkably steady washstand that had no ware of any description, and a remarkably unsteady chest of four drawers, one of which refused to open, while the other three refused to shut. Further, the dining-table was more than ”fairly” steady, three of the legs being perfectly sound, and it therefore only threatened to fall over when leaned upon. And lastly, although most of the plates and all the cups were enamel ware, there was almost a complete dinner service in china. The teapot, however, was tin, and, as Mac said, as ”big as a house.”

As for the walls, not only were the ”works of art” there, but they themselves were uniquely dotted from ceiling to floor with the muddy imprints of dogs' feet--not left there by a Pegasus breed of winged dogs, but made by the muddy feet of the station dogs, as the, pattered over the timber, when it lay awaiting the carpenter, and no one had seen any necessity to remove them. Outside the verandahs, and all around the house, was what was to be known later as the garden, a gra.s.sy stretch of hillocky ground, well scratched and beaten down by dogs, goats, and fowls; fenceless itself, being part of the gra.s.sy acres which were themselves fenced round to form the homestead enclosures. Just inside this enclosure, forming, in fact, the south-western barrier of it, stood the ”billabong,” then a spreading sheet of water; along its banks flourished the vegetable garden; outside the enclosure, towards the south-east, lay a gra.s.sy plain a mile across, and to the north-west were the stock-yards and house paddock--a paddock of five square miles, and the only fenced area on the run; while everywhere to the northwards, and all through the paddock, were dotted ”white-ant” hills, all shapes and sizes, forming brick-red turrets among the green scrub and timber.

”Well!” Mac said, after we had completed a survey. ”I said it wasn't a fit place for a woman, didn't I?”

But the Head-stockman was in one of his argumentative moods. ”Any place is a fit place for a woman,” he said, ”provided the woman is fitted for the place. The right man in the right place, you know. Square people shouldn't try to get into round holes.”

”The woman's SQUARE enough!” the Maluka interrupted; and Mac added, ”And so is the HOLE,” with a scornful emphasis on the word ”hole.”

Dan chuckled, and surveyed the queer-looking building with new interest.

”It reminds me of a banyan tree with corrugated-iron foliage,” he said, adding as he went into details, ”In a dim light the finished room would pa.s.s for the trunk of the tree and the uprights for the supports of the branches.”

But the Maluka thought it looked more like a section of a mangrove swamp, piles and all.

”It looks very like a house nearly finished,” I said severely; for, because of the verandah and many promises, I was again hopeful for something approaching that commodious station home. ”A few able-bodied men could finish the dining-room in a couple of clays, and make a mansion of the rest of the building in a week or so.”

But the able-bodied men had a different tale to tell.

”Steady! Go slow, missus!” they cried. ”It may look like a house very nearly finished, but out-bush, we have to catch our hares before we cook them.”

”WE begin at the very beginning of things in the Never-Never,” the Maluka explained. ”Timber grows in trees in these parts, and has to be coaxed out with a saw.”

”It's a bad habit it's got into,” Dan chuckled; then pointing vaguely towards the thickly wooded long Reach, that lay a mile to the south of the homestead, beyond the gra.s.sy plain, he ”supposed the dining-room was down there just now, with the rest of the House.”

With fast-ebbing hopes I looked in dismay at the distant forest undulating along the skyline, and the Maluka said sympathetically, ”It's only too true, little un'.”

But Dan disapproved of spoken sympathy under trying circ.u.mstances. ”It keeps 'em from toeing the line” he believed; and fearing I was on the point of showing the white feather he broke in with: ”We'll have to keep her toeing the line, Boss,” and then pointed out that ”things might be worse.” ”In some countries there are no trees to cut down,” he said.

”That's the style,” he added, when I began to laugh in spite of my disappointment, ”We'll soon get you educated up to it.”

But already the Sanguine Scot had found the bright side of the situation, and reminded us that we were in the Land of Plenty of Time. ”There's time enough for everything in the Never-Never,” he said. ”She'll have many a pleasant ride along the Reach choosing trees for timber. Catching the hare's often the best part of the fun.”

Mac's cheery optimism always carried all before it. Pleasant rides through shady forest-ways seemed a fair recompense for a little delay; and my spirits went up with a bound, to be dashed down again the next moment by Dan.

”We haven't got to the beginning of things yet,” he interrupted, following up the line of thought the Maluka had at first suggested.

”Before any trees are cut down, we'll have to dig a saw-pit and find a pit-sawyer.” Dan was not a pessimist; he only liked to dig down to the very root of things, besides objecting to sugar-coated pills as being a hindrance to education.

But the Dandy had joined the group, and being practical, suggested ”trying to get hold of little Johnny,” declaring that ”he would make things hum in no time.”

Mac happened to know that Johnny was ”inside” somewhere on a job, and it was arranged that Dan should go in to the Katherine at once for nails and ”things,” and to see if the telegraph people could find out Johnny's whereabouts down the line, and send him along.

But preparations for a week's journey take time, outbush, owing to that necessity of beginning at the beginning of things. Fresh horses were mustered, a mob of bullocks rounded up for a killer, swags and pack-bags packed; and just as all was in readiness for the start, the Quiet Stockman came in, bringing a small mob of colts with him.

”I'm leaving,” he announced in the Quarters; then, feeling some explanation was necessary, added, ”I WAS thinking of it before this happened.” Strictly speaking, this may be true, although he omitted to say that he had abandoned the idea for some little time.

No one was surprised, and no one thought of asking what had happened, for Jack had always steered clear of women, as he termed it. Not that he feared or disliked them, but because he considered that they had nothing in common with men. ”They're such terrors for asking questions,” he said once, when pressed for an opinion, adding as an afterthought, ”They never seem to learn much either,” in his own quiet way, summing up the average woman's conversation with a shy bushman: a long string of purposeless questions, followed by inane remarks on the answers.