101:001,01['  ]| He stepped ashore, looking like$4$ a lamb.  Far be it from me to$9$ say he was
101:001,02['  ]| the lamb he looked.  Else why should he have been sent out of England?
101:001,03['  ]| But a good-looking boy he was, with dark blue eyes and the complexion
101:001,04['  ]| of a girl, and a bearing just a little too lamb-like to$9$ be convincing.
101:001,05['  ]| He stepped ashore in$4$ the newest of new colonies, glancing quickly around,
101:001,06['  ]| but preserving his lamb-like quietness.  Down came his elegant kit, and was
101:001,07['  ]| dumped on$4$ the wharf:  a kit that$6#1$ included a brand-new pigskin saddle and
101:001,08['  ]| bridle, nailed up$5$ in$4$ a box straight from a smart shop in$4$ London.  He kept his
101:001,09['  ]| eye on$4$ that$6#2$ also, the tail of his well-bred eye.
101:001,10['  ]| Behind him was the wool ship that$6#1$ had brought him from England.  This
101:001,11['  ]| nondescript port was Fremantle, in$4$ West*Australia; might have been anywhere
101:001,12['  ]| or nowhere.  In$4$ his pocket he had a letter of introduction to$4$ a well-known
101:001,13['  ]| colonial lawyer, in$4$ which$6#1$, as he was aware, was folded also a draft on$4$ a
101:001,14['  ]| West*Australian bank.  In$4$ his purse he had a five pound note.  In$4$ his head
101:001,15['  ]| were a few irritating memories.  In$4$ his heart he felt a certain excited flutter at
101:001,16['  ]| being in$4$ a real new land, where a man could be \really\ free.  Though what he
101:001,17['  ]| meant by$4$ "free" he never stopped to$9$ define.  He left everything suitably
101:001,18['  ]| vague.
101:001,19['  ]| Meanwhile, he waited for$4$ events to$9$ develop, as if it were none of his
101:001,20['  ]| business.
101:001,21['  ]| This was forty years ago, when it was still a long, long way to$4$ Australia, and
101:001,22['  ]| the land was still full of the lure of promise.  There were gold and pearl
101:001,23['  ]| findings, bush and bush-ranging, the back of beyond and and everything desirable.
101:001,24['  ]| Much misery, too, ignored by$4$ all except the miserable.
101:001,25['  ]| And Jack was not quite eighteen, so$3$ he ignored a great deal.  He did not pay
101:001,26['  ]| much attention even to$4$ his surroundings, yet from the end of the wharf he
101:001,27['  ]| saw pure sky above, the pure, unknown, unsullied sea to$4$ westward; the
101:001,28['  ]| ruffled, tumbled sand glistened like$4$ fine silver, the air was the air of a new
101:001,29['  ]| world, unbreathed by$4$ man.
101:001,30['  ]| The only prize Jack had ever won at school was for$4$ Scripture.  The Bible
101:001,31['  ]| language exerted a certain fascination over him, and in$4$ the background of
101:001,32['  ]| his consciousness the Bible images always hovered.  When he was moved, it
101:001,33['  ]| was Scripture that$6#1$ came to$4$ his aid.  So$3$ he now stood, silent with the shyness of
101:001,34['  ]| youth, thinking over and over:  
101:001,34@z   | "There shall be a new heaven and a new
101:001,35@z   | earth."
101:001,36['  ]| Not far off among the sand near the harbour mouth lay the township, a
101:001,37['  ]| place of strong, ugly, oblong houses of white stone with unshuttered bottle-glass
101:002,01['  ]| windows and a low white-washed wall going round, like$4$ a sort of
101:002,02['  ]| compound; then there was a huge stone prison with a high white-washed
101:002,03['  ]| wall.  Nearer the harbour, a few new tall warehouse buildings, and sheds,
101:002,04['  ]| long sheds, and a little wooden railway station.  Further out again, windmills
101:002,05['  ]| for$4$ milling flour, the mill-sails turning in$4$ the transparent breeze from the
101:002,06['  ]| sea.  Right in$4$ the middle of the township was a stolid new Victorian Church
101:002,07['  ]| with a turret:  and this was the one thing he knew he disliked in$4$ the view.
101:002,08['  ]| On$4$ the wharf everything was busy.  The old wool steamer lay important in$4$
101:002,09['  ]| dock, people were crowding on$4$ deck and crowding the wharf in$4$ a very
101:002,10['  ]| imformal manner, porters were running with baggage, a chain was clanking,
101:002,11['  ]| and little groups of emigrants stood forlorn, looking for$4$ their wooden chests,
101:002,12['  ]| swinging their odd bundles done up$5$ in$4$ coloured kerchiefs.  
101:002,12@a   | The uttermost
101:002,13@a   | ends of the earth!  All so$5#1$ lost and yet so$5#1$ familiar.  So$5#1$ familiar, and so$5#1$ lost.  The
101:002,14@a   | people like$4$ provincial people at home.  The railway running through the
101:002,15@a   | sand hills.  And the feeling of remote unreality
101:002,16@a   | This was his mother's country.  She had been born and raised here, and she
101:002,17@a   | had told him about it, many a time, like$4$ a fable.  And this was what it was like$4$!
101:002,18@a   | How could she feel she actually \belonged\ to$4$ it?  Nobody could belong to$4$ it.
101:002,19@a   | Himself, he belonged to$4$ Bedford, England.  And Bedford*College.  
101:002,19['  ]| But his
101:002,20['  ]| mind turned away from this in$4$ repugnance.  Suddenly he turned desirously
101:002,21['  ]| to$4$ the unreality of this remote place.
101:002,22['  ]| Jack was waiting for$4$ Mr*George, the lawyer to$4$ whom his letter of introduction
101:002,23['  ]| was addressed.  Mr*George had shaken hands with him on$4$ deck; a stout
101:002,24['  ]| and breezy gentleman, who$6#1$ had been carried away again on$4$ the gusts of his
101:002,25['  ]| own breeze, among the steamer crowd, and had forgotten his young charge.
101:002,26['  ]| Jack patiently waited.  
101:002,26@a   | Adult and responsible people with stout waistcoats had
101:002,27@a   | a habit, 
101:002,27['  ]| he knew, 
101:002,27@a   | of being needed elsewhere.
101:002,28@a   | Mr*George!  And all his mother's humorous stories about him!  This notable
101:002,29@a   | character of the Western lonely colony, this rumbustical old gentleman
101:002,30@a   | who$6#1$ had a "terrific memory" who$6#1$ was "full of quotations"  and who$6#1$ "never
101:002,31@a   | forgot a face" ~~ 
101:002,31['  ]| Jack waited the more calmly, sure of being recognised again
101:002,32['  ]| by$4$ him ~~ 
101:002,32@a   | was to$9$ be seen in$4$ the distance with his thumbs hooked in$4$ his
101:002,33@a   | waistcoat armholes, passively surveying the scene with a quiet, shrewd eye,
101:002,34@a   | before hailing another acquaintance and delivering another sally.  He had a
101:002,35@a   | "tongue like$4$ a razor" and frightened the women to$4$ death.  
101:002,35['  ]| Seeing him there
101:002,36['  ]| on$4$ the wharf, elderly, stout and decidedly old-fashioned, Jack had a little
101:002,37['  ]| difficulty in$4$ reconciling him with the heavy colonial hero of his mother's
101:002,38['  ]| stories.
101:002,39@v   | How he had missed a seat on$4$ the bench, for$4$ example.  He was to$9$ become a 
101:002,40@v   | judge.  But while acting on$4$ probation, or whatever it is called, a man came up$5$
101:002,41@v   | before him charged with wife-beating, and serious maltreatment of his
101:002,42@v   | better half.  A verdict of "not guilty" was returned.  
101:002,42@c   | "Two years' hard labour,"
101:002,43@v   | said Mr*George, who$6#1$ did not like$1$ the looks of the fellow.  There was a protest.
101:002,44@c   | "Verdict stands!"  
101:002,44@v   | said Mr*George.  
101:002,44@c   | "Two years' hard labour.  Give it him for$4$
101:002,45@c   | \not\ beating her and breaking her head.  He should have done.  He should
101:003,01@c   | have done.  It was fairly proved."
101:003,02@v   | So$3$ Mr*George had remained a lawyer, instead of becoming a judge.  
101:003,02@a   | A
101:003,03@a   | stout, shabby, provincial-looking old man with baggy trousers that$6#1$ seemed as
101:003,04@a   | if they were slipping down.  
101:003,04['  ]| Jack had still to$9$ get used to$4$ that$6#2$ sort of trousers.
101:003,05@a   | One of his mother's heroes!
101:003,06['  ]| But the whole scene was still outside the boy's vague, almost trance-like
101:003,07['  ]| state.  The commotion of unloading went on$5$ ~~ people stood in$4$ groups, the
101:003,08['  ]| lumpers were already at work with the winches, bringing bales and boxes
101:003,09['  ]| from the hold.  
101:003,09@a   | The Jewish gentleman standing just there had a red nose.  He
101:003,10@a   | swung his cane uneasily.  He must be well-off, to$9$ judge by$4$ his links and
101:003,11@a   | watch-chain.  But then why did his trousers hang so$5#1$ low and baggy, and why
101:003,12@a   | was his waist-coat of yellow cloth ~~ that$6#2$ cloth cost a guinea a yard, 
101:003,12['  ]| Jack knew
101:003,13['  ]| it from his horsey acquaintances ~~ 
101:003,13@a   | so$5#1$ dirty and frayed?
101:003,14['  ]| Western*Australia in$4$ the year 1882.  Jack had read all about it in$4$ the official
101:003,15['  ]| report on$4$ the steamer.  The colony had three years before celebrated its
101:003,16['  ]| fiftieth anniversary.  Many people still remembered the fiasco of the first
101:003,17['  ]| attempt at the Swan*River*Settlement.  Captain*Stirling brought the first
101:003,18['  ]| boatload of prospective settlers.  The Government promised not to$9$ defile the
101:003,19['  ]| land with convicts.  But the promise was broken.  The convicts had come:  and
101:003,20['  ]| that$6#2$ stone prison-building must have been the convict station.  He knew from
101:003,21['  ]| his mother's stories.  But he also knew that$3$ the convicts were now gone again.
101:003,22['  ]| The "Establishment" had been closed down already for$4$ ten years or more.
101:003,23@v   | A land must have its ups and downs.  And the first thing the old world had
101:003,24@v   | to$9$ ship to$4$ the new world was its sins, and the first shipments were of sinners.
101:003,25['  ]| That$6#2$ was what his mother said.  Jack felt a certain sympathy.  He felt a
101:003,26['  ]| sympathy with the empty "Establishment" and the departed convicts.  
101:003,26@a   | He
101:003,27@a   | himself was mysteriously a "sinner."  
101:003,27['  ]| He felt he was born such:  just as he was
101:003,28['  ]| born with his deceptive handsome look of innocence.  He was a sinner, a
101:003,29['  ]| Cain.  Not that$3$ he was aware of having committed anything that$6#1$ seemed to$4$
101:003,30['  ]| himself particularly sinful.  No$7$, he was not aware of having "sinned."  He was
101:003,31['  ]| not aware that$3$ he ever would "sin."
101:003,32['  ]| But that$6#2$ was not the point.  Curiously enough, that$6#2$ was not the point.  The
101:003,33['  ]| men who$6#1$ commit sins and who$6#1$ know they commit sins ususally get on$5$ quite
101:003,34['  ]| well with the world.  Jack knew he would never get on$5$ well with the world.  
101:003,34@a   | He
101:003,35@a   | was a sinner.  
101:003,35['  ]| He knew that$3$ 
101:003,35@a   | as far as the world went, he was a sinner, born
101:003,36@a   | condemned.  Perhaps it had come to$4$ him from his mother's careless, rich
101:003,37@a   | uncanny Australian blood.  Perhaps it was a recoil from his father's military-gentleman
101:003,38@a   | nature.  His father was an officer in$4$ Her*Majesty's*Army.  An
101:003,39@a   | officer in$4$ Her*Majesty's*Army.  
101:003,39['  ]| For$4$ some reason there was always a touch of
101:003,40['  ]| the fantastic and ridiculous, to$4$ Jack, in$4$ being an officer in$4$ Her*Majesty's*Army.
101:003,41['  ]| Quite a high and responsible officer usually stationed in$4$ command in$4$
101:003,42['  ]| one or other of Her*Britannic*Majesty's Colonies.
101:003,43['  ]| Why did Jack find his father slightly fantastic?  Why was that$6#2$ gentleman in$4$
101:003,44['  ]| uniform who$6#1$ appeared occasionally, very resplendent and somehow very
101:003,45['  ]| "good,"  why was he always unreal and fantastic to$4$ the little boy left at home in$4$
101:004,01['  ]| England?  Why was he even more fantastic when he wore a black coat and
101:004,02['  ]| genteel grey trousers?  He was handsome and pleasant, and indisputably
101:004,03['  ]| "good."  Then why, oh why, should he have appeared fantastic to$4$ his own
101:004,04['  ]| little boy, who$6#1$ was so$5#1$ much like$4$ him in$4$ appearance?
101:004,05@v   | "The spitten image!"  
101:004,05['  ]| one of his nurses had said.  And Jack never forgave it.
101:004,06['  ]| He thought it meants a spat-upon image, or an image in$4$ spit.  This he resented
101:004,07['  ]| and repudiated absolutely, though it remained vague.
101:004,08@v   | "Oh, you little sinner!"  
101:004,08['  ]| said the same nurse, half caressingly.  And this the
101:004,09['  ]| boy had accepted as his natural appellation.  
101:004,09@a   | He was a little sinner.  As he grew
101:004,10@a   | older, he was a young sinner.  Now, as he approached manhood, he was a
101:004,11@a   | sinner without modification.
101:004,12['  ]| Not, we repeat, that$3$ he was ever able to$9$ understand wherein his sinfulness
101:004,13['  ]| lay.  He knew his father was a "good man" ~~ 
101:004,13@x   | "The colonel, your father, is such
101:004,14@x   | a \good man\, so$3$ you must be a \good little boy\ and grow up$5$ like$4$ him" ~~ "There is
101:004,15@x   | no$2$ better example of an English gentleman than your father, the general.  All
101:004,16@x   | you have to$9$ do is to$9$ grow up$5$ like$4$ him."
101:004,17['  ]| Jack knew from the start that$3$ he would not.  And there*in lay the sin,
101:004,18['  ]| presumably.  Or the root of the sin.
101:004,19['  ]| He did not dislike his father.  The general was kind and simple and
101:004,20['  ]| amiable.  How could anyone dislike him?  But to$4$ the boy he was always just a
101:004,21['  ]| little fantastic, like$4$ the policeman in$4$ a Punch*and*Judy show.
101:004,22['  ]| Jack loved his mother with a love that$6#1$ could not but be intermittent, for$3$
101:004,23['  ]| sometimes she stayed in$4$ England and "lived" with him, and more often she
101:004,24['  ]| left him and went off with his father to$4$ Jamaica or some such place ~~ or to$4$
101:004,25['  ]| India or Khartoum, names that$6#1$ were in$4$ his blood ~~ leaving the boy in$4$ the
101:004,26['  ]| charge of a paternal aunt.  He did not think much of the aunt.
101:004,27['  ]| But he liked the warm, flushed, rather muddled delight of his mother.  She
101:004,28['  ]| was a handsome, ripe Australian woman with warm colouring and soft flesh,
101:004,29['  ]| absolutely kindly in$4$ a humorous, off-hand fashion, warm with a jolly sensuousness,
101:004,30['  ]| and good in$4$ a wicked sort of way.  She sat in$4$ the sun and laughed and
101:004,31['  ]| refused to$9$ quarrel, refused also to$9$ weep.  When she had to$9$ leave her little boy
101:004,32['  ]| a spasm would contract her face and make her look ugly, so$3$ the child was
101:004,33['  ]| glad if she went quickly.  But she was in$4$ love with her husband, who$6#1$ was still
101:004,34['  ]| more in$4$ love with her, so$3$ off she went laughing sensuously across seven seas,
101:004,35['  ]| quarrelling with nobody, pitching her camp in$4$ true colonial fashion wherever
101:004,36['  ]| she found herself, yet always with a touch of sensuous luxury, Persian
101:004,37['  ]| rugs and silk cushions and dresses of rich material.  She was the despair of the
101:004,38['  ]| true English wives, for$3$ you could not disapprove of her, she was the dearest
101:004,39['  ]| thing imaginable, and yet she introduced a pleasant semi-luxurious sense
101:004,40['  ]| of ~~ of what?  Why, almost of sin.  Not positive sin.  She was really the dearest
101:004,41['  ]| thing imaginable.  But the feeling that$3$ there was no$2$ fence between sin and
101:004,42['  ]| virtue.  As if sin were, so$5#2$ to$9$ speak, the unreclaimed bush, and goodness were
101:004,43['  ]| only the chains that$6#1$ the settlers had managed to$9$ fence in$4$.  And there was so$5#1$
101:004,44['  ]| much more bush than settlement.  And the one was as good as the other, save
101:004,45['  ]| that$3$ they served different ends.  And that$3$ you always had the wild and
101:005,01['  ]| endless bush all round your little claim.  And coming and going was always
101:005,02['  ]| through the wild and innocent, but non-moral bush.  Which$6#1$ non-moral bush
101:005,03['  ]| had a devil in$4$ it.  Oh, yes!  But a wild and comprehensible devil, like$4$ bush-rangers
101:005,04['  ]| who$6#1$ did brutal and lawless things.  Whereas the tame devil of the
101:005,05['  ]| settlements, drunkenness and greediness and foolish pride, he was more
101:005,06['  ]| scaring.
101:005,07@v   | "My dear, there is tame innocence and wild innocence, and tame devils and
101:005,08@v   | wild devils, and tame morality and wild morality.  Let us camp in$4$ the bush and
101:005,09@v   | be good."
101:005,10['  ]| That$6#2$ was her attitude, always.  
101:005,10@v   | "Let us camp in$4$ the bush and be good."  
101:005,10['  ]| She
101:005,11['  ]| was an Australian from a wild Australian homestead.  And she was like$4$ a wild
101:005,12['  ]| sweet animal.  Always the sense of space and lack of restrictions, and it did not
101:005,13['  ]| matter \what\ you did, so$5#1$ long as you were good inside yourself.
101:005,14['  ]| Her husband was in$4$ love with her, completely.  To$4$ him it mattered very
101:005,15['  ]| much what you did.  So$3$ perhaps her easy indifference to$4$ English rail-fences
101:005,16['  ]| satisfied in$4$ him the iconoclast that$6#1$ lies at the bottom of all men.
101:005,17['  ]| She was not well-bred.  There was a certain "cottage" geniality about her.
101:005,18['  ]| But also a sense of great, unfenced spaces, that$6#1$ put the ordinary ladylikness
101:005,19['  ]| rather at a loss.  A real colonial, from the newest, wildest, remotest colony.
101:005,20['  ]| She loved her little boy.  But also she loved her husband, and she loved the
101:005,21['  ]| army life.  She preferred, really, to$9$ be with her husband.  And you can not trail a
101:005,22['  ]| child about.  And she lived in$4$ all the world, and she could not bear to$9$ be poked
101:005,23['  ]| in$4$ a village in$4$ England.  Not for$4$ long.  And she was used to$4$ having men about
101:005,24['  ]| her.  Mostly men.  Jolly men.
101:005,25['  ]| So$3$ her heart smarted for$4$ her little boy.  But she had to$9$ leave him.  And he
101:005,26['  ]| loved her, but did not dream of depending on$4$ her.  He knew it as a tiny child.
101:005,27['  ]| He would never have to$9$ depend on$4$ anybody.  His father would pay money
101:005,28['  ]| for$4$ him.  But his father was rather jealous of him.  Jealous even of his beauty
101:005,29['  ]| as a tiny child, in$4$ spite of the fact that$3$ the child was the "spitten" image of the
101:005,30['  ]| father:  dark blue eyes, curly hair, peach-bloom skin.  Only the child had the
101:005,31['  ]| easy way of accommodating himself to$4$ life and circumstances, like$4$ his
101:005,32['  ]| mother, and a certain readiness to$9$ laugh, even when he was by$4$ himself.  The
101:005,33['  ]| easy laugh that$6#1$ made his nurse say 
101:005,33@v   | "You little sinner!"
101:005,34['  ]| He knew he was a little sinner.  It rather amused him.
101:005,35['  ]| Jack's mind jolted awake as he made a grab at his hat, nearly knocking it
101:005,36['  ]| off, realizing that$3$ he was being introduced to$4$ two men:  or that$3$ two men were
101:005,37['  ]| being introduced to$4$ him.  They shook hands very casually, giggling at the
101:005,38['  ]| same time to$4$ one another in$4$ a suppressed manner.  Jack blushed furiously,
101:005,39['  ]| embarrassed, not knowing what they were laughing at.
101:005,40['  ]| Just beside him, the Jewish gentleman was effusively greeting another
101:005,41['  ]| Jewish gentleman.  In$4$ fact, they were kissing:  which$6#1$ made Jack curl with
101:005,42['  ]| disgust.  But he could not move away, because there were bales behind him,
101:005,43['  ]| people on$4$ two sides, and a big dog was dancing and barking in$4$ front of him,
101:005,44['  ]| at something which$6#1$ it saw away below through a crack in$4$ the wharf timbers.
101:005,45['  ]| The dog seemed to$9$ be a mixture of wolf and grey-hound.  Queer specimen!
101:006,01['  ]| Later, he knew it was called a kangaroo*dog.
101:006,02[C  ]| "Mr*A%*Bell and Mr*Swallow.  Mr*Jack*Grant from England."  
101:006,02['  ]| This was Mr*George
101:006,03['  ]| introducing him to$4$ the two men, and going on$5$ without any change,
101:006,04['  ]| with a queer puffing of the lips:  
101:006,04[C  ]| "Prh!  Bah!  Wolf and Hider!  Wolf and
101:006,05[C  ]| Hider!"
101:006,06['  ]| This left Jack completely mystified.  
101:006,06@a   | And why were Mr*Bell and Mr*Swallow
101:006,07@a   | laughing so$5#1$ convulsively?  Was it the dog?
101:006,08[C  ]| "You remember his father, Bell, out here in$4$ '59 ~~ Captain*Grant.  Married
101:006,09[C  ]| Surgeon-Captain*Reid's youngest daughter, from Woolamooloo*Station."
101:006,10['  ]| The gentleman said:  
101:006,10[W  ]| "Pleased to$9$ make your acquaintance," 
101:006,10['  ]| which$6#1$ was a
101:006,11['  ]| phrase that$6#1$ embarrassed Jack because he did not know what to$9$ answer.
101:006,12@a   | Should one say, "Thank you!" ~~ or "The pleasure is mine!" ~~ or "So$5#2$ am I to$9$
101:006,13@a   | make yours!"  He mumbled:  
101:006,13[A  ]| "How do you do!"
101:006,14['  ]| However, it did not matter, for$3$ the two men kept the laugh between themselves,
101:006,15['  ]| while Mr*George took on$4$ a colonial \9distrait\ look, then blew out his
101:006,16['  ]| cheeks and ejaculated:  
101:006,16@z   | "Mercy and truth have met together:  righteousness
101:006,17@z   | and peace have kissed each other."  
101:006,17['  ]| This was said in$4$ a matter-of-fact way.  Jack
101:006,18['  ]| knew it was a quotation from the Psalms, but not what it was aimed at.  The
101:006,19['  ]| two men were laughing more openly at the joke.
101:006,20@a   | Was the joke against himself?  Was it his own righteousness that$6#1$ was funny?
101:006,21['  ]| He blushed furiously once more.
101:006,22['  ]| But Mr*George ignored the boy's evident embarrassment, and strolled off
101:006,23['  ]| with one of the gentlemen ~~ whether Bell or Swallow Jack did not know ~~
101:006,24['  ]| towards the train.
101:006,25['  ]| The remaining gentleman ~~ either Bell or Swallow ~~ clapped the uncomfortable
101:006,26['  ]| youth comfortably on$4$ the shoulder.
101:006,27[W  ]| "New chum, eh?  Not in$4$ the know?  I will$1$ tell you."  
101:006,27['  ]| They set off after the other
101:006,28['  ]| two.
101:006,29[W  ]| "By$4$ gad, he is a funny thing!  You have got to$9$ laugh if old George is about,
101:006,30[W  ]| though he never moves a muscle.  Dry as a ship's biscuit.  Do you see the Jews
101:006,31[W  ]| kissing?  They have been at law for$4$ two years, those two blossoms.  One's name is
101:006,32[W  ]| Wolf and the other's Hider, and Mr*George is Wolf's attorney.  Never able to$9$
101:006,33[W  ]| do anything, because you could not get Hider into the open.  See the joke?
101:006,34[W  ]| Hider!  Sneak Hider!  Hider under the rafters!  Hider hidden!  And the Wolf
101:006,35[W  ]| could not unearth him.  Though George showed up$5$ Wolf for$4$ what he is:  a
101:006,36[W  ]| mean, grasping, contentious mongrel of a man.  Now they meet to$9$ kiss.  See
101:006,37[W  ]| them?  The suit ended in$4$ a mush.  But that$6#2$ dog there hunting a rat right
101:006,38[W  ]| under their feet ~~ was not that$6#2$ beautiful?  Old George could not miss it ~~ 
101:006,38@z   | ""Mercy
101:006,39@z   | and truth have met together,"" 
101:006,39[W  ]| ha!  ha!  However he finds his text for$4$ everthing
101:006,40[W  ]| beats me ~~ "
101:006,41['  ]| Jack laughed, and walked in$4$ a daze beside his new acquaintance.  He felt he
101:007,01['  ]| had fallen overhead into Australia, instead of arriving naturally.
101:007,02['  ]| The wood-eating little engine was gasping in$4$ front of a little train of open
101:007,03['  ]| carriages.  Jack remarked on$4$ her tender piled high with chunks of wood.
101:007,04[W  ]| "Yes, we stoke her with timber.  We carry all we can.  And if we are going a
101:007,05[W  ]| long way, to$4$ York, when she is burned up$5$ all she can carry she stops in$4$ the
101:007,06[W  ]| bush and we all get down, passengers and all, to$9$ chop a new supply.  See the
101:007,07[W  ]| axe there?  She carries half a dozen on$4$ a long trip."
101:007,08['  ]| The three men, all wearing old-fashioned whiskers, pulled out tobacco
101:007,09['  ]| pouches the moment they were seated, and started their pipes.  They were all
101:007,10['  ]| stout, and their clothes were slack, and they behaved with such absolute
101:007,11['  ]| unconcern that$3$ it made Jack self-conscious.
101:007,12['  ]| He sat rather stiffly, remembering the things his mother had told him.
101:007,13@v   | Her father, Surgeon-Captain*Reid, had arrived at the Swan*river on$4$ a
101:007,14@v   | man-of-war, on$4$ his very first voyage.  He had landed with Captain*Fremantle
101:007,15@v   | from H%*M%*S% "Challenger," when that$6#2$ officer took formal possession of the
101:007,16@v   | country in$4$ the name of His*Majesty King*George*IV.  He had seen the first
101:007,17@v   | transport, the "Parmelia," prevented by$4$ heavy gales from landing her goods
101:007,18@v   | and passengers on$4$ the mainland, disembark all on$4$ Garden*Island, where the
101:007,19@v   | men of the "Challenger" were busy clearing ground and erecting temporary
101:007,20@v   | houses.  
101:007,20['  ]| That$6#2$ was in$4$ midwinter, June, 1827; and Jack's grandfather.  Now it
101:007,21['  ]| was mid-winter, June, 1882; and mere Jack.
101:007,22['  ]| Midwinter!  A pure blue sky and a warm, crystal air.  The brush outside
101:007,23['  ]| green, rather dull green, the sandy country dry.  It was like$4$ English June,
101:007,24['  ]| English midsummer.  Why call it midwinter?  Except for$4$ a certain dull look of
101:007,25['  ]| the bushes.
101:007,26['  ]| They were passing the convict station.  The "Establishment" had not lasted
101:007,27['  ]| long; from about 1850 to$4$ 1870.  Not like$4$ New*South*Wales, which$6#1$ had a
101:007,28['  ]| purely convict origin.  Western*Australia was more respectable.
101:007,29['  ]| He remembered his mother always praised the convicts, said 
101:007,29@v   | they had
101:007,30@v   | been a blessing to$4$ the colony.  Western*Australia had been too big and barren
101:007,31@v   | a mouthful for$4$ the first pioneers to$9$ chew, even though they were gentlemen
101:007,32@v   | of pluck and education, and bit off their claims bravely.  Came the rush that$6#1$
101:007,33@v   | followed occupation, a rush of estimable and highly respectable British
101:007,34@v   | workmen.  But even these were unprepared for$4$ the hardships that$6#1$ awaited
101:007,35@v   | them in$4$ Western*Australia.  The country was too much for$4$ them.
101:007,36@v   | It needed the convicts to$9$ make a real impression:  the convicts with their
101:007,37@v   | law, and discipline, and all their governmental outfit, and their forced
101:007,38@v   | labour.  Soldiers, doctors, lawyers, spiritual pastors and earthly masters ~~
101:007,39@v   | and the convicts condemned to$9$ obey.  This was the beginning of the colony.
101:007,40['  ]| Thought speaks!  Mr*Swallow, identified as the gentleman with the long,
101:007,41['  ]| lean, ruddy face and large nose and vague brown eye, leaned forward and
101:007,42['  ]| jerked his pipe stem towards the open window.
101:007,43[W  ]| "See that$6#2$ beautiful road running through the sand, sir?  That$6#2$ road extends
101:007,44[W  ]| to$4$ Perth and over the Causeway and away up$4$ country, branching in$4$ all
101:007,45[W  ]| directions, like$4$ the arteries of the human body.  Built by$4$ the sappers and
101:008,01[W  ]| miners with \convict labour\, sir.  Yes, with \convict\ labour.  Also the bridge over
101:008,02[W  ]| which$6#1$ we are crossing."
101:008,03['  ]| Jack looked out at the road, but was much more enchanted by$4$ the full, soft
101:008,04['  ]| river of heavenly blue water, on$4$ whose surface he looked eagerly for$4$ the
101:008,05['  ]| black swans.  He did not see any.
101:008,06[W  ]| "Oh, yes!  Oh, yes!  You will$1$ find them wild in$4$ their native state a little way up$5$,"
101:008,07['  ]| said Mr*Swallow.
101:008,08['  ]| Beyond the river were sheets of sand again, white sand stretching around
101:008,09['  ]| on$4$ every side.
101:008,10[A  ]| "It must have been here that$3$ the Carpenter wept," 
101:008,10['  ]| Jack said in$4$ his unexpected
101:008,11['  ]| young voice that$6#1$ was still slightly hoarse, as he poked his face out of
101:008,12['  ]| the window.
101:008,13['  ]| The three gentlemen were silent in$4$ passive consternation, till Mr*George
101:008,14['  ]| swelled his cheeks and continued:
101:008,15@z   | "Like$4$ anything to$9$ see such quantities of sand."  
101:008,15['  ]| Then he snorted and blew
101:008,16['  ]| his nose.
101:008,17['  ]| Mr*Bell at once recognised the Westralian joke, which$6#1$ had been handed on$5$
101:008,18['  ]| to$4$ Jack by$4$ his mother.
101:008,19[W  ]| "Hit it, my son!"  
101:008,19['  ]| he cried, clapping his hands on$4$ his knees.  
101:008,19[W  ]| "In$4$ the first five
101:008,20[W  ]| minutes.  Useless!  Useless!  A gentleman of discernment, that$6#2$ is what you are.
101:008,21[W  ]| Just the sort we want in$4$ this colony ~~ a gentleman of discernment.  A gentleman
101:008,22[W  ]| without it planted us here, fifty years ago, in$4$ the blank, blank sand.
101:008,23[W  ]| What is the consequence?  Clogged, cloyed, cramped, sand-smothered, that$6#2$ is
101:008,24[W  ]| what we are."
101:008,25[W  ]| "Not a bit of it," 
101:008,25['  ]| said Mr*Swallow.
101:008,26[W  ]| "Sorrow, Sin and Sand," 
101:008,26['  ]| repeated Mr*Bell.
101:008,27['  ]| Jack was puzzled and amused by$4$ their free-and-easy, confidential way,
101:008,28['  ]| which$6#1$ was still a little ceremonious.  
101:008,28@a   | Slightly ceremonious, and in$4$ their shirt-sleeves,
101:008,29@a   | so$5#2$ to$9$ speak.  The same with their curious, cockney pronunciation,
101:008,30@a   | their accurate grammar, and their slight pomposity.  They never said "you,"
101:008,31@a   | merely "you" ~~ "That$6#2$ is what you are."  And their drawling, almost sneering manner
101:008,32@a   | was very odd, contrasting with the shirt-sleeves familiarity, the shabby
101:008,33@a   | clothes and the pleasant way they had of nodding at you when they talked to$4$
101:008,34@a   | you.
101:008,35[W  ]| "Yes, yes, Mr*Grant," 
101:008,35['  ]| continued Mr*Bell, while Jack wished he would not
101:008,36['  ]| Mister him ~~ 
101:008,36[W  ]| "A gentleman without discernment induced certain politicians
101:008,37[W  ]| in$4$ the British Cabinet to$9$ invest in$4$ these vast areas.  This same gentleman got
101:008,38[W  ]| himself created King*of*Groperland, and came out here with a small number
101:008,39[W  ]| of fool followers.  These fool followers, for$4$ every three quid's worth of goods
101:008,40[W  ]| they brought with them, were given forty acres of land apiece ~~ "
101:008,41[C  ]| "Of sand," 
101:008,41['  ]| said Mr*George.
101:008,42[W  ]| " ~~ and a million acres of fine promises," 
101:008,42['  ]| continued Mr*Bell unmoved.
101:008,43[W  ]| "Therefore the fool followers, mostly younger sons of good family, anxious
101:008,44[W  ]| to$9$ own property ~~ "
101:008,45[C  ]| "In$4$ parties of five females to$4$ one male ~~ Prrrh!"  
101:008,45['  ]| snorted Mr*George.
101:009,01[W  ]| " ~~ came.  They were informed that$3$ the soil was well adapted to$4$ the
101:009,02[W  ]| cultivation of tobacco!  Of cotton!  Of sugar!  Of flax!  And that$3$ cattle could be
101:009,03[W  ]| raised to$9$ supply His*Majesty's ships with salt beef ~~ and horses could be
101:009,04[W  ]| reared to$9$ supply the army in$4$ India ~~ "
101:009,05[C  ]| "With Kangaroos and Wallabies."
101:009,06[W  ]| " ~~ the cavalry, that$6#2$ is.  So$3$ they came and were landed in$4$ the sand ~~ "
101:009,07[C  ]| "And told to$9$ stick their heads in$4$ it, so$3$ they should not see death staring at
101:009,08[C  ]| them."
101:009,09[W  ]| " ~~ along with the goods they had brought."
101:009,10[C  ]| "A harp!"  
101:009,10['  ]| cried Mr*George.  
101:009,10[C  ]| "My mother brought a harp and a Paisley
101:009,11[C  ]| shawl and got five hundred acres for$4$ them ~~ estimated value of harp being
101:009,12[C  ]| twenty guineas.  She would better have gone straight to$4$ heaven with it."
101:009,13[W  ]| "Yes, sir!"  
101:009,13['  ]| continued Mr*Bell, unheeding.
101:009,14[C  ]| "No$7$, sir!"  
101:009,14['  ]| broke in$5$ Mr*George.  
101:009,14[C  ]| "Do you wish me unborn."
101:009,15['  ]| Mr*Bell paused to$9$ smile, then continued:
101:009,16[W  ]| "Mr*Grant, sir, these gentle ladies and gentlemen were dumped in$4$ the
101:009,17[W  ]| sand along with their goods.  Well, there were a few cattle and sheep and
101:009,18[W  ]| horses.  But what else?  Harps.  Paisley shawls.  Ornamental glass cases of wax
101:009,19[W  ]| fruit, for$4$ the mantelpiece; family Bibles and a family coach, sir.  For$4$ that$6#2$
101:009,20[W  ]| family coach, sir, the bringer got a thousand acres of land.  And it ended its
101:009,21[W  ]| days where they landed it, on$4$ the beach, for$3$ there was not an inch of road to$9$
101:009,22[W  ]| drive it over, nor anywhere to$9$ drive it to$4$.  They took off its wheels and there it
101:009,23[W  ]| lay.  I myself have sat in$4$ it."
101:009,24[C  ]| "Ridden in$4$ his coach," 
101:009,24['  ]| smiled Mr*George.
101:009,25[W  ]| "My mother," 
101:009,25['  ]| continued Mr*Bell, 
101:009,25[W  ]| "was a clergyman's daughter.  I myself
101:009,26[W  ]| was born in$4$ a bush humpy, and my mother died shortly after ~~ "
101:009,27[C  ]| "Of chagrin!  Of chagrin!"  
101:009,27['  ]| muttered Mr*George.
101:009,28[W  ]| "We will$1$ draw a veil over the sufferings of those years ~~ "
101:009,29[W  ]| "Oh, but we made good!  We made good!"  
101:009,29['  ]| put in$5$ Mr*Swallow comfortably.
101:009,30[W  ]| "What are you grousing about?  We made good.  There you sit, Bell, made of
101:009,31[W  ]| money, and grousing, anybody would think you wanted a loan of two bob."
101:009,32@z   | "By$4$ the waters of Babylon there we sat down ~~ " 
101:009,32['  ]| said Mr*George.
101:009,33[W  ]| "Did we!  No$7$, we did not.  We rowed up$4$ the Swan*River.  That$6#2$ is what my
101:009,34[W  ]| father did.  A sturdy British yeoman, Mr*Grant."
101:009,35[W  ]| "Where did he get the boat from?"  
101:009,35['  ]| asked Mr*Bell.
101:009,36[W  ]| "An old ship.  I was a baby, sir, in$4$ a tartan frock.  Remember it to$4$ this day,
101:009,37[W  ]| sitting in$4$ my mother's lap.  My father got that$6#2$ boat off a whaler.  It had been
101:009,38[W  ]| stove in$5$, and was not fit for$4$ the sea.  But he made it fit for$4$ the river, and they
101:009,39[W  ]| rowed up$4$ the Swan ~~ my father and a couple of ""indented"" servants, as we
101:009,40[W  ]| called them.  We landed in$4$ the Upper*Swan*valley.  I remember that$6#2$ camp
101:009,41[W  ]| fire, sir, as well as I remember anything."
101:009,42[C  ]| "Better than most things," 
101:009,42['  ]| put in$5$ Mr*George.
101:009,43[W  ]| "We cleared off the scrub, we lifted the stones into heaps, we planted corn
101:009,44[W  ]| and wheat ~~ "
101:009,45[C  ]| "The babe in$4$ the tartan frock steering the plough."
101:010,01[W  ]| "Yes, sir, later on$5$.  Our flocks prospered, our land bore fruit, our family
101:010,02[W  ]| flourished ~~ "
101:010,03[W  ]| "On$4$ milk and honey ~~ "
101:010,04[W  ]| "Oh, cry off, Swallow!"  
101:010,04['  ]| ejaculated Mr*Bell.  
101:010,04[W  ]| "Your father fought flood and
101:010,05[W  ]| drought for$4$ forty odd years.  The floods of '62 broke his heart, and the floods
101:010,06[W  ]| in$4$ '72 ruined \you\.  And this is '82, so$3$ do not talk too loud."
101:010,07[W  ]| "Ruined!  When was I ever ruined?"  
101:010,07['  ]| cried Mr*Swallow.  
101:010,07[W  ]| "Sheep one-nundred-and-ten
101:010,08[W  ]| per*cent%; for$4$ some herds, as you know, gentlemen, throw
101:010,09[W  ]| twins and triplets.  Cattle ninety per*cent%, horses fifty; and a ready market
101:010,10[W  ]| for$4$ them all."
101:010,11[W  ]| "Pests," 
101:010,11['  ]| Mr*Bell was saying, 
101:010,11[W  ]| "one million per*cent%  Rust destroys fourteen
101:010,12[W  ]| thousand acres of wheat crop, just as the country is getting on$4$ its feet.
101:010,13[W  ]| Dingoes breed 135 per*cent%, and kill sheep to$9$ match.  Cattle run wild and are
101:010,14[W  ]| no$2$ more seen.  Horses cost the eyes out of your head before you can catch
101:010,15[W  ]| them, break them, train them, and ship them to$4$ the Indian market."
101:010,16@z   | "Moth and rust!  Moth and rust!"  
101:010,16['  ]| murmured Mr*George absently.
101:010,17['  ]| Jack, with the uncomfortable philosophy of youth, sat still and let the verbal
101:010,18['  ]| waters rage.  Until he was startled by$4$ a question from Mr*George.
101:010,19[C  ]| "Well, sir, what were you sent out for$4$?"
101:010,20['  ]| This was a colonial little joke at the "Establishment" identity's expense.
101:010,21['  ]| But, unfortunately, it hit Jack too.  He had been sent out, really, because he
101:010,22['  ]| was too tiresome to$9$ keep at home.  Too fond of "low" company.  Too often a
101:010,23['  ]| frequenter of the stables.  Too indifferent to$4$ the higher claims of society.
101:010,24['  ]| They feared a waster in$4$ the bud.  So$3$ they shipped the bud to$4$ the antipodes, to$9$
101:010,25['  ]| let it blossom there upside down.
101:010,26['  ]| But Jack was not going to$9$ give himself away.
101:010,27[A  ]| "To$9$ go on$4$ the land, sir," 
101:010,27['  ]| he replied.  
101:010,27@a   | Which$6#1$ was true.  But what had his
101:010,28@a   | father said in$4$ the letter?  
101:010,28['  ]| He flushed and looked angry, his dark blue eyes
101:010,29['  ]| going very dark.  
101:010,29[A  ]| "I was expelled from school," 
101:010,29['  ]| he added calmly.  
101:010,29[A  ]| "And I was
101:010,30[A  ]| sent down from the Agricultural*College.  That$6#2$ is why I have come out a year
101:010,31[A  ]| before my time.  But I was coming ~~ to$9$ go on$4$ the land ~~ anyway ~~ "
101:010,32['  ]| He ended in$4$ a stammer.  He rather hated adults; he definitely hated them
101:010,33['  ]| in$4$ tribunal.
101:010,34['  ]| Mr*George held up$5$ his hand deprecatingly.
101:010,35[C  ]| "Say nothing!  Say nothing!  Your father made no$2$ mention of anything.
101:010,36[C  ]| Tell us when you know us, if you like$1$.  But you are not called on$5$ to$9$ indict yourself.
101:010,37[C  ]| That$6#2$ was a silly joke of mine.  Forget it.  You came to$9$ go on$4$ the land, as your
101:010,38[C  ]| father informs me.  I knew your father, long before you were born.  But I
101:010,39[C  ]| knew your mother better."
101:010,40[W  ]| "So$5#2$ did I," 
101:010,40['  ]| said Mr*Swallow.  
101:010,40[W  ]| "And grieved the day that$3$ ever a military
101:010,41[W  ]| gentleman carried her away from Western*Australia.  She was one of our
101:011,01[W  ]| home-grown flowers, was Katie*Reid, and I never saw a Rose of England that$6#1$
101:011,02[W  ]| could touch her."
101:011,03['  ]| Jack now flushed deeper than ever.
101:011,04[C  ]| "Though," 
101:011,04['  ]| said Mr*George slyly, 
101:011,04[C  ]| "if you have got a prank up$5$ your sleeve, that$6#1$
101:011,05[C  ]| you can tell us about ~~ come on$5$ with it, my son.  We have none of us forgotten
101:011,06[C  ]| being shipped to$4$ England for$4$ a schooling."
101:011,07[A  ]| "Oh, well!" 
101:011,07['  ]| said Jack.  He always said 
101:011,07[A  ]| "Oh, well!"  
101:011,07['  ]| when he did not know what
101:011,08['  ]| to$9$ say.  
101:011,08[A  ]| "You mean at the Agricultural*College.  Oh, well! ~~ Well I was the
101:011,09[A  ]| youngest there, stable-boy and harness-cleaner, and all that$6#2$.  Oh, well!  You
101:011,10[A  ]| see there had been a chivoo the night before.  The lads had a grudge against the
101:011,11[A  ]| council, because they gave us bread and cheese, and no$2$ butter, for$4$ supper,
101:011,12[A  ]| and cocoa with no$2$ milk.  And we were not just little nippers.  We were ~~ Oh,
101:011,13[A  ]| well!  Most of the chaps were men, really ~~ eighteen ~~ nineteen ~~ twenty.  As
101:011,14[A  ]| much as twenty-three.  I was the youngest.  I did not care.  But the chaps were
101:011,15[A  ]| different.  There were many who$6#1$ had failed at the big entrance exams% for$4$
101:011,16[A  ]| the Indian*Civil, or the Naval or Military, and they were big, hungry chaps,
101:011,17[A  ]| you can bet ~~ "
101:011,18[C  ]| "I should say so$5#2$," 
101:011,18['  ]| nodded Mr*George approvingly.
101:011,19[A  ]| "Well, there was a chivoo.  They held me on$4$ their shoulders and I smashed
101:011,20[A  ]| the principal's windows."
101:011,21['  ]| You could see by$4$ Jack's face how he had enjoyed breaking those windows.
101:011,22[C  ]| "What with?"  
101:011,22['  ]| asked Mr*George.
101:011,23[A  ]| "With a wooden gym club."
101:011,24[C  ]| "Wanton destruction of property.  Prrrh!"
101:011,25[A  ]| "The boss was frightened.  But he raised Old Harry and said 
101:011,25@w   | he would go up$5$ to$4$
101:011,26@w   | town and report us to$4$ the council.  
101:011,26[A  ]| So$3$ he ordered the trap right away, to$9$ catch
101:011,27[A  ]| the nine o'clock train.  And I had to$9$ take the trap round to$4$ the front door ~~ "
101:011,28['  ]| Here Jack paused.  He did not want to$9$ go further.
101:011,29[C  ]| "And so$3$ ~~ " 
101:011,29['  ]| said Mr*George.
101:011,30[A  ]| "And so$3$, when I stepped away from the horse's head, the principal jerked
101:011,31[A  ]| the reins in$4$ the nasty way he had and the horse bolted."
101:011,32[C  ]| "Could not the fellow pull her up$5$?  Man in$4$ a position like$4$ that$6#2$ ought to$9$ know
101:011,33[C  ]| how to$9$ drive a horse."
101:011,34['  ]| Jack watched their faces closely.  On$4$ his own face was the subtle look of
101:011,35['  ]| innocence, which$6#1$ veiled a look of life-and-death defiance.
101:011,36[A  ]| "The reins were not buckled into the bit, sir.  No$2$ man could drive that$6#2$
101:011,37[A  ]| horse,"  
101:011,37['  ]| he said quietly.
101:011,38['  ]| A look of amusement tinged with misgiving spread over Mr*George's face.
101:011,39['  ]| But he was a true colonial.  He had to$9$ hear the end of a story against
101:011,40['  ]| powers-that-be.
101:011,41[C  ]| "And how did it end?"  
101:011,41['  ]| he asked.
101:011,42[A  ]| "I am sorry," 
101:011,42['  ]| said Jack, 
101:011,42[A  ]| "he broke his leg in$4$ the accident."
101:011,43['  ]| The three Australians burst into a laugh.  Chiefly because when Jack said
101:011,44[A  ]| "I am sorry," 
101:011,44['  ]| he really meant it.  He was really sorry for$4$ the hurt man.  But for$4$
101:011,45['  ]| the hurt Principal he was not sorry.  As soon as the Principal was on$4$ the ground
101:012,01['  ]| with a broken leg, Jack saw only the hurt man, and none of the office.  And
101:012,02['  ]| his heart was troubled for$4$ the hurt man.
101:012,03['  ]| But if the mischief was to$9$ do again he would probably do it.  He could not
101:012,04['  ]| repent.  And yet his feelings were genuinely touched.  Which$6#1$ made him
101:012,05['  ]| comical.
101:012,06[C  ]| "You are a corker!"  
101:012,06['  ]| said Mr*George, shaking his head with new misgiving.
101:012,07[W  ]| "So$3$ you were sent down," 
101:012,07['  ]| said Mr*Bell.  
101:012,07[W  ]| "And your father thought he had better
101:012,08[W  ]| ship you straight out here, eh?  Best thing for$4$ you, I will$1$ be bound.  I will$1$ bet you
101:012,09[W  ]| never learned a ha' porth at that$6#2$ place."
101:012,10[A  ]| "Oh, well.  I think I learned a lot."
101:012,11[W  ]| "When to$9$ sow and when to$9$ reap and a Latin motto attached!"
101:012,12[A  ]| "No$7$, sir, not that$6#2$.  I learned to$9$ vet."
101:012,13[W  ]| "Vet%?"
101:012,14[A  ]| "Well, sir, you see, the head groom was a gentleman veterinary surgeon
101:012,15[A  ]| and he had a weakness, as he called it.  So$3$ when he was strong he taught me to$9$
101:012,16[A  ]| vet, and when he had his attacks I would go out with the cart and collect him at a
101:012,17[A  ]| pub and bring him home under the straw, in$4$ return for$4$ kindness shown."
101:012,18[C  ]| "A nice sort of school!  Prrh!  Bah!"  
101:012,18['  ]| snorted Mr*George.
101:012,19[A  ]| "Oh, that$6#2$ was not on$4$ the curriculum, sir.  My mother says there will$1$ be rascals
101:012,20[A  ]| in$4$ heaven, if you look for$4$ them."
101:012,21[C  ]| "And you keep on$5$ looking, eh?  Well ~~ I would not, if I were you.  Especially
101:012,22[C  ]| in$4$ this country.  I would not.  I would not go vetting any more for$4$ any drunken
101:012,23[C  ]| groom in$4$ the world, if I were you.  Nor breaking windows, nor leaving reins
101:012,24[C  ]| unbuckled either.  And I will$1$ tell you for$4$ why.  It becomes a habit.  You get a
101:012,25[C  ]| habit of going with rascals, and then you are done.  Because in$4$ this country
101:012,26[C  ]| you will$1$ find plenty of scamps, and plenty of wasters.  And the sight of them is
101:012,27[C  ]| enough ~~ nasty, low-down lot.  This is a great big country, where an honest
101:012,28[C  ]| man can go his own way into the back of beyond, if he likes.  But the minute
101:012,29[C  ]| he begins to$9$ go crooked, or slack, the country breaks him.  It breaks him, and
101:012,30[C  ]| he is neither fit for$4$ god nor man any more.  You beware of this country, my
101:012,31[C  ]| boy, and do not try to$9$ play larks with it.  It is all right playing a prank on$4$ an old
101:012,32[C  ]| fool of a fossil out there in$4$ England.  They need a few pranks played on$4$ them,
101:012,33[C  ]| they do.  But out here ~~ no$7$!  Keep all your strength and all your wits to$9$ fight
101:012,34[C  ]| the bush.  It is a great big country.  And it needs men, \men\, not wasters.  It is a
101:012,35[C  ]| great big country, and it wants men.  You can go your way and do what you
101:012,36[C  ]| want:  take up$5$ land, go on$4$ a sheep station, lumber, or try the gold fields.  But
101:012,37[C  ]| whatever you do, live up$5$ to$4$ your fate like$4$ a man.  And keep square with
101:012,38[C  ]| yourself.  Never mind other people.  But keep square with \yourself\."
101:012,39['  ]| Jack, staring out of the window, saw miles of dull dark-green scrub
101:012,40['  ]| spreading away on$4$ every side to$4$ a bright skyline.  He could hear his mother's
101:012,41['  ]| voice:
101:012,42@v   | "Earn a good opinion of yourself and never mind the world's opinion.  You
101:012,43@v   | know when there is the right glow inside you.  That$6#2$ is the spirit of God inside
101:012,44@v   | you."
101:012,45['  ]| But this "right glow" business puzzled him a little.  He was inclined to$9$
101:013,01['  ]| believe he felt it while he was smashing the Principal's window-glass, and
101:013,02['  ]| while he was "vetting" with the drunken groom.  Yet the words fascinated
101:013,03['  ]| him:  
101:013,03@v   | "The right glow inside you ~~ the spirit of God inside you."
101:013,04['  ]| He sat motionless on$4$ his seat, while the Australians kept on$5$ talking about
101:013,05['  ]| the colony.  
101:013,05[C  ]| "Have you patience?  Perseverance?  Have ye that$6#2$?  She wants you and
101:013,06[C  ]| your offspring.  And the bones you will$1$ leave behind you.  All of your interests, your hopes, your 
101:013,07[C  ]| life, and the same of your sons and son's sons.  And she does not care if you go nor
101:013,08[C  ]| stay, neither.  Makes no$2$ difference to$4$ her.  She is waiting, drowsy, no$2$ hurry.
101:013,09[C  ]| Wants millions of yer.  But she has waited endless ages and can wait endless
101:013,10[C  ]| more.  Only she must have \men\ ~~ understand?  If they are lazy derelicts and
101:013,11[C  ]| ne'er-do-wells, she will$1$ eat them up$5$.  But she is waiting for$4$ real men ~~ British to$4$
101:013,12[C  ]| the bone ~~ "
101:013,13[W  ]| "The lad is no$2$ more than a boy, yet, George.  Dry up$5$ a bit with your
101:013,14[W  ]| \men\ ~~ \British to$4$ the bone\."
101:013,15[C  ]| "Do not toll at \me\, Bell.  I have been here since '31, so$3$ let me speak.  Came in$4$ old
101:013,16[C  ]| sailing-ship, ""Rockingham"" ~~ wrecked on$4$ coast ~~ left nothing but her name,
101:013,17[C  ]| township of Rockingham.  Nice place to$9$ fish.  Was sent back to$4$ London to$4$
101:013,18[C  ]| school, '41, in$4$ another sailing-vessel and was not wrecked this time.
101:013,19[C  ]| ""Shepherd,"" laden colonial produce.  The first steam vessel did not come till
101:013,20[C  ]| '45 ~~ the ""Driver.""  Wonderful advancement ~~ wonderful advancement in$4$ the
101:013,21[C  ]| colony, too, when I came back.  Came back a notary.  Couple of churches, Mill*Street*Jetty,
101:013,22[C  ]| Grammar School opened, Causeway built, lot of exploration
101:013,23[C  ]| done.  Eyre had legged it from Adelaide ~~ all in$4$ my time, all in$4$ my time ~~ "
101:013,24['  ]| Jack felt it might go on$5$ for*ever.  He was becoming stupefied.  Mercifully, the
101:013,25['  ]| train jerked to$4$ a standstill beside a wooden platform, that$6#1$ was separated
101:013,26['  ]| from a sandy space by$4$ a picket fence.  A porter put his hand to$4$ his mouth and
101:013,27['  ]| yelled 
101:013,27[W  ]| "Perth," 
101:013,27['  ]| just for$4$ the look of the thing ~~ because where else could it be?
101:013,28['  ]| They all burst out of the train.  The town stood up$5$ in$4$ the sand:  wooden
101:013,29['  ]| houses with wooden platforms blown over with sand.
101:013,30['  ]| And Mr*George was still at it.  
101:013,30[C  ]| "Yes, Bell, wait for$4$ the salty sand to$9$ mature.
101:013,31[C  ]| Wait for$4$ a few of \us\ to$9$ die ~~ and decay!  Mature ~~ manure, that$6#2$ is what is
101:013,32[C  ]| wanted.  Dead men in$4$ the sand, dead men's bones in$4$ the gravel.  That$6#2$ is what will$1$
101:013,33[C  ]| mature this country.  The people you bury in$4$ it.  Only good fertilizer.  Dead
101:013,34[C  ]| men are like$4$ seed in$4$ the ground.  When a few more like$4$ you and me, Bell, are
101:013,35[C  ]| worked in$5$ ~~ "
102:014,01['  ]| Jack was tired and a little land-sick, after the long voyage.  He felt dazed
102:014,02['  ]| and rather unhappy, and saw as through a glass, darkly.  For$3$ he could not
102:014,03['  ]| yet get used to$4$ the fixed land under his feet, after the long weeks on$4$ the
102:014,04['  ]| steamer.  And these people went on$5$ as if they were wound up$5$, curiously
102:014,05['  ]| oblivious of him and his feelings.  A dream world, with a dark glass between
102:014,06['  ]| his eyes and it.  An uneasy dream.
102:014,07['  ]| He waited on$4$ the platform.  Mr*George had again disappeared somewhere.
102:014,08['  ]| The train was backing already away.
102:014,09['  ]| It was evening, and the setting sun from the west, where the great empty
102:014,10['  ]| sea spread unseen, cast a radiance in$4$ the etherealised air, melting the brick
102:014,11['  ]| shops and the wooden houses and the sandy places in$4$ a sort of amethyst
102:014,12['  ]| glow.  And again Jack saw the magic clarity of this new world, as through a
102:014,13['  ]| glass, darkly.  He felt the cool snap of night in$4$ the air, coming strange and
102:014,14['  ]| crude out of the jewel sky.  And it seemed to$4$ him he was looking through the
102:014,15['  ]| wrong end of a field-glass, at a far, far country.
102:014,16@a   | Where was Mr*George?  Had he gone off to$9$ read the letter again, or to$9$
102:014,17@a   | enquire about the draft on$4$ the bank?  Everyone had left the station, the
102:014,18@a   | wagonette cabs had driven away.  What was to$9$ be done?  Ought he to$9$ have
102:014,19@a   | mentioned an hotel?  He had better say something.  He had better say ~~
102:014,20@a   | But here was Mr*George, with a serious face, coming straight up$5$ to$9$ say
102:014,21@a   | something.
102:014,22[C  ]| "That$6#2$ vet," 
102:014,22['  ]| he said, 
102:014,22[C  ]| "did he think you had a natural gift for$4$ veterinary
102:014,23[C  ]| work?"
102:014,24[A  ]| "He said so$5#2$, sir.  My mother's father was a naval surgeon ~~ if that$6#2$ has
102:014,25[A  ]| anything to$9$ do with it."
102:014,26[C  ]| "Nothing at all.  I knew the old gentleman ~~ and another silly old cuckoo he
102:014,27[C  ]| was, too.  But he is dead, so$3$ we will$1$ make the best of him.  No$7$, it was your
102:014,28[C  ]| character I wanted to$9$ get at.  Your father wants you to$9$ go on$4$ a farm or a
102:014,29[C  ]| station for$4$ twelve months, and send a pound a week for$4$ your board.
102:014,30[C  ]| Suppose you know ~~ ?"
102:014,31[A  ]| "Yes ~~ I hope it is enough."
102:014,32[C  ]| "Oh, it is enough, if you are all right yourself ~~ I was thinking of Ellis's place.
102:014,33[C  ]| I have got the twins here now.  They are kinsmen of yours, the Ellises ~~ and of
102:014,34[C  ]| mine, too.  We are all related, in$4$ clans and cliques and gangs, out here in$4$ this
102:014,35[C  ]| colony.  Your mother belongs to$4$ the Ellis clan.  Well, now.  Ellis's place is a fine
102:014,36[C  ]| home farm, and not too far.  Only he has got a family of fine young lambs, my
102:014,37[C  ]| step-sister's children into the bargain.  And you see, if you are a wolf in$4$ sheep's
102:015,01[C  ]| clothing ~~ for$3$ you \look\ mild enough ~~ why, I ought not to$9$ be sending you
102:015,02[C  ]| among them.  Young lasses and boys bred and reared out there in$4$ the bush,
102:015,03[C  ]| why ~~ Come now, son ~~ your father protected you by$4$ silence ~~ but you are not
102:015,04[C  ]| in$4$ court, and you need not heed me.  Tell me straight out what you were
102:015,05[C  ]| expelled from your Bedford school for$4$."
102:015,06['  ]| Jack was silent for$4$ a moment, rather pale about the nose.
102:015,07[A  ]| "I was nabbed," 
102:015,07['  ]| he said, in$4$ a colourless voice, 
102:015,07[A  ]| "at a fight with fists for$4$ a
102:015,08[A  ]| purse of sovereigns, laid either side.  Plenty of others were there.  But they got
102:015,09[A  ]| away, and the police nabbed me for$4$ the school colours on$4$ my cap.  My father
102:015,10[A  ]| was just back from Ceylon, and he stood by$4$ me.  But the Head said 
102:015,10@w   | for$4$ the
102:015,11@w   | sake of example and for$4$ the name of the school I had better be chucked out.
102:015,12['  ]| They were talking about the school in$4$ the newspapers.  The Head said 
102:015,12@w   | he was
102:015,13@w   | sorry to$9$ expel me."
102:015,14['  ]| Mr*George blew his nose into a large yellow red-spotted handkerchief, and
102:015,15['  ]| looked for$4$ a few moments into the distance.
102:015,16[C  ]| "Seems to$4$ me you let yourself be made a bit of a cat's paw of," 
102:015,16['  ]| he said
102:015,17['  ]| dubiously.
102:015,18[A  ]| "I suppose it is because I do not care," 
102:015,18['  ]| said Jack.
102:015,19[C  ]| "But you ought to$9$ care.  Why do not you ?"
102:015,20['  ]| There was no$2$ answer.
102:015,21[C  ]| "You will$1$ have to$9$ care some day or other," 
102:015,21['  ]| the old man continued.
102:015,22[A  ]| "Do you know, sir, which$6#1$ hotel I shall go to$4$?"  
102:015,22['  ]| asked Jack.
102:015,23[C  ]| "You will$1$ go to$4$ no$2$ hotel.  You will$1$ come home with me.  But, mind you .  I have got my
102:015,24[C  ]| two young niece, Ellis' twins, couple of girls, Ellis' daughters, where I am
102:015,25[C  ]| going to$9$ send you.  They are at my house.  And there is my other niece, Mary,
102:015,26[C  ]| who$6#1$ I am very fond of.  She is not an Ellis, she is a Rath, and an orphan, lives
102:015,27[C  ]| with her Aunt*Matilda, my sister.  They do not live with me.  None of them live
102:015,28[C  ]| with me.  I live alone, except for$4$ a good plaincook, since my wife died.  But I
102:015,29[C  ]| tell you, they are visiting me.  And I shall look to$4$ you to$9$ behave yourself, now;
102:015,30[C  ]| both here and at Wandoo, which$6#1$ is Ellis' station.  I will$1$ take you there in$4$ the
102:015,31[C  ]| morning.  But you see now where I am taking you:  among a pack of innocent
102:015,32[C  ]| sheep that$6#1$ has probably never seen a goat to$9$ say Boh!  to$4$ ~~ or Baa!  if you
102:015,33[C  ]| like$1$ ~~ makes no$2$ difference.  We do not raise goats in$4$ Western*Australia, as I am
102:015,34[C  ]| aware of.  But I am telling you, if you are a wolf in$4$ sheep's clothing ~~ No$7$, you
102:015,35[C  ]| need not say anything.  You probably do not know what you are, anyhow.  So$3$
102:015,36[C  ]| come on$5$.  I will$1$ tell somebody to$9$ bring your bags ~~ looks a rare jorum to$4$
102:015,37[C  ]| me ~~ and we will$1$ walk."
102:015,38['  ]| They walked off the timber platform into the sand, and Jack had his first
102:015,39['  ]| experience of "sand-groping."  The sand was thick and fine and soft, so$3$ he
102:015,40['  ]| was glad to$9$ reach the oyster-shell path running up$4$ Wellington*Street, in$4$
102:015,41['  ]| front of the shops.  They passed along the street of brick cottages and
102:016,01['  ]| two-storied houses, to$4$ Barrack*Street, where Jack looked with some surprise
102:016,02['  ]| on$4$ the pretentious buildings that$6#1$ stood up$5$ in$4$ the dusk:  the handsome square
102:016,03['  ]| red brick tower of the Town*Hall, and on$4$ the sandy hill to$4$ the left, the fine
102:016,04['  ]| white edifice of the Roman*Catholic*Church, which$6#1$ building was already
102:016,05['  ]| older than Jack himself.  Beyond the Town*Hall was the Church*of*England.
102:016,06[C  ]| "See it!"  
102:016,06['  ]| said Mr*George.  
102:016,06[C  ]| "That$6#2$ is where your father and mother were
102:016,07[C  ]| married.  Slap-dash, military wedding, more muslin and red jackets than
102:016,08[C  ]| would stock a shop."
102:016,09['  ]| Mr*George spoke to$4$ everybody he met, ladies and gentlemen alike.  The
102:016,10['  ]| ladies seemed a bit old-fashioned, the gentlemen all wore nether garments at
102:016,11['  ]| least four sizes too large for$4$ them.  Jack was much piqued by$4$ this pioneering
102:016,12['  ]| habit.  And they all seemed very friendly and easy-going, like$4$ men in$4$ a pub at
102:016,13['  ]| home.
102:016,14[C  ]| "What did the Bedford Headmaster say he was sorry to$9$ lose you for$4$?
102:016,15[C  ]| Smart at your books, were you?"
102:016,16[A  ]| "I was good at Scripture and Shakespeare, but not at the other things.  I
102:016,17[A  ]| expect he was sorry to$9$ lose me from the football eleven.  I was the cock there."
102:016,18['  ]| Mr*George blew his nose loudly, gasped, prrhed, and said, 
102:016,18[C  ]| "You had better
102:016,19[C  ]| say \rooster\, my son, here in$4$ Australia; especially in$4$ polite society.  We are a trifle
102:016,20[C  ]| more particular than they are in$4$ England, I suppose.  Well, and what else
102:016,21[C  ]| have you got to$9$ crow about?"
102:016,22['  ]| If Jack had been the sulky sort, he would now have begun to$9$ get sulky.  As it
102:016,23['  ]| was, he was tired of being continually pulled up$5$.  But he fell back on$4$ his own
102:016,24['  ]| peculiar callous indifference.
102:016,25[A  ]| "I was captain of the first football eleven," 
102:016,25['  ]| he said in$4$ his indifferent voice.
102:016,26[A  ]| "And not bad in$4$ front of the sticks.  And I took the long distance running cup
102:016,27[A  ]| a year under age.  I tell you because you ask me."
102:016,28['  ]| Then Mr*George astonished Jack again by$4$ turning and planting himself in$4$
102:016,29['  ]| front of him like$4$ Balaam's ass, in$4$ the middle of the path, standing with feet
102:016,30['  ]| apart in$4$ his big elephant trousers, snorting behind a walrus moustache,
102:016,31['  ]| glaring and extending a large and powerful hand.  He shook hands vigorously,
102:016,32['  ]| saying, 
102:016,32[C  ]| "You will$1$ do, my son.  You will$1$ do for$4$ me."
102:016,33['  ]| Then he resumed his walk.
102:016,34[C  ]| "Yes, sir, you will$1$ do for$4$ me," 
102:016,34['  ]| resumed the old man.  
102:016,34[C  ]| "For$3$ I can see you are a
102:016,35[C  ]| gentleman."
102:016,36['  ]| Jack was rather taken aback.  He had come to$4$ Australia to$9$ be a Man, a wild,
102:016,37['  ]| bushy man among men.  His father was a gentleman.
102:016,38[A  ]| "I think I had rather be a man than a gentleman," 
102:016,38['  ]| he said.
102:016,39['  ]| Mr*George stood still, feet apart, as if he had been shot.
102:016,40[C  ]| "What is the difference?"  
102:016,40['  ]| he cried in$4$ a falsetto, sarcastic tone.  
102:016,40[C  ]| "What is the
102:016,41[C  ]| difference?  Can not be a man unless you \are\ a gentleman.  Take that$6#2$ from me.
102:017,01[C  ]| You might say I am not a gentleman.  Sense of the ridiculous runs away with
102:017,02[C  ]| me, for$4$ one thing.  But, in$4$ order to$9$ be the best man I could, I have tried to$9$ be all
102:017,03[C  ]| the gentleman I could.  No$2$ hanky-pankying about it.  You are a gentleman
102:017,04[C  ]| born.  I am not, not \altogether\.  Do not you go trying to$9$ upset what you are.  A
102:017,05[C  ]| gentleman is a man who$6#1$ never laughs to$9$ wound, who$6#1$ is honest with himself,
102:017,06[C  ]| and his own judge in$4$ the sight of the Almighty.  That$6#2$ is the Government*House
102:017,07[C  ]| down there among the trees, river just beyond.  That$6#2$ is my house,
102:017,08[C  ]| there, see.  I am going to$9$ hand you over to$4$ the girls once we get there. So$3$ I
102:017,09[C  ]| shall not see you again, not to$9$ talk to$4$.  I want to$9$ tell you, then, that$3$ I put my
102:017,10[C  ]| confidence in$4$ you, and you are going to$9$ play up$5$ like$4$ a gentleman.  And I want
102:017,11[C  ]| you to$9$ know, as between gentlemen, not merely between an old man and a
102:017,12[C  ]| boy, but as between gentlemen, if you ever need any help, or a word of
102:017,13[C  ]| advice, come to$4$ me.  Come to$4$ me, and I will$1$ do my best."
102:017,14['  ]| He once more shook hands, this time in$4$ a conclusive manner.
102:017,15['  ]| Jack had looked to$4$ left and right as they walked, half listening to$4$ the
102:017,16['  ]| endless old man.  He saw sandy blocks of land beside the road, and scattered,
102:017,17['  ]| ugly buildings, most of them new.  He made out the turrets and gables of the
102:017,18['  ]| Government*House, in$4$ the dusk among trees, and he imagined the wide
102:017,19['  ]| clear river below those trees.
102:017,20['  ]| Turning down an unmade road, they approached a two-storied brick
102:017,21['  ]| house with narrow verandahs, whose wooden supports rested nakedly on$4$
102:017,22['  ]| the sand below.  There was no$2$ garden, fence, or anything:  just an oyster-shell
102:017,23['  ]| path across the sand, a pipe-clayed doorstep, a brass knocker, a narrow
102:017,24['  ]| wooden verandah, a few flower-pots.
102:017,25['  ]| Mr*George opened the door and showed the boy into the narrow wooden
102:017,26['  ]| hall.  There was a delicious smell of cooking.  Jack climbed the thin, flimsy
102:017,27['  ]| stairs, and was shown into his bedroom.  A four-poster bed with a crochet
102:017,28['  ]| quilt and frilled pillows, a mahogany chest of drawers with swivel looking-glass,
102:017,29['  ]| a washstand with china set complete.  England all over again.  Even his
102:017,30['  ]| bag was there, and his brushes were set out for$4$ him.
102:017,31['  ]| He had landed!
102:017,32['  ]| As he made his toilet he heard a certain fluttering outside his door.  He
102:017,33['  ]| waited for$4$ it to$9$ subside, and when all seemed still, opened to$9$ go downstairs.
102:017,34['  ]| There stood two girls, giggling and blushing, waiting arm in$4$ arm to$9$ pounce
102:017,35['  ]| on$4$ him.
102:017,36[E  ]| "Oh, is not he \9beau\!"  
102:017,36['  ]| exclaimed one of the girls, in$4$ a sort of aside.  And the
102:017,37['  ]| other broke into a high laugh.
102:017,38['  ]| Jack remained dumbfounded, reddening to$4$ the roots of his hair.  But his
102:017,39['  ]| dark-blue eyes lingered for$4$ a moment on$4$ the two girlish faces.  They were
102:017,40['  ]| evidently the twins.  They had the same thin, soft, slightly-tanned, warm-looking
102:018,01['  ]| faces, a little wild, and the same marked features.  But the brows of
102:018,02['  ]| one were level, and her fair hair, darkish fair, was all crisp, curly round her
102:018,03['  ]| temples, and she looked up$5$ at you from under her level brows with queer
102:018,04['  ]| yellow-grey eyes, shy, wild, and yet with a queer effrontery, like$4$ a wild-cat
102:018,05['  ]| under a bush.  The other had blue eyes and a bigger nose, and it was she who$6#1$
102:018,06['  ]| said, 
102:018,06[E  ]| "Oh, is not he \9beau\!"
102:018,07['  ]| The one with the yellow eyes stuck out her slim hand awkwardly, gazing at
102:018,08['  ]| him and saying:
102:018,09[D  ]| "I suppose you are cousin Jack, Beau."
102:018,10['  ]| He shook hands first with one then with the other, and could not find a
102:018,11['  ]| word to$9$ say.  The one with the yellow eyes was evidently the leader of the two.
102:018,12[E  ]| "Tea is ready," 
102:018,12['  ]| she said, 
102:018,12[E  ]| "if you are coming down."
102:018,13['  ]| She spoke this over her shoulder.  There was the same colour in$4$ her tawny
102:018,14['  ]| eyes as in$4$ her crisp, tawny hair, but her brows were darker.  She had a
102:018,15['  ]| forehead, Jack decided, like$4$ the plaster-cast of Minerva.  And she had the
102:018,16['  ]| queerest way of looking at you under her brows, and over her shoulder.
102:018,17@a   | Funny pair of lambs, these.
102:018,18['  ]| The two girls went downstairs arm in$4$ arm, at a run.  This is quite a feat, but
102:018,19['  ]| evidently they were used to$4$ it.
102:018,20['  ]| Jack looked on$4$ life, social life inside a house, as something to$9$ be borne in$4$
102:018,21['  ]| silence.  These two girls were certainly a desperate addition.  He heard them
102:018,22['  ]| burst into the parlour, the other one repeating:
102:018,23[E  ]| "He is coming.  Here comes Beau."
102:018,24[F  ]| "I thought his name was Jack.  \Bow\ is it!"  
102:018,24['  ]| exclaimed a voice.
102:018,25['  ]| He entered the parlour with his elbows at his sides, his starched collar
102:018,26['  ]| feeling very stiff.  He was aware of the usual hideous room, rather barer than
102:018,27['  ]| at home:  plush cushions on$4$ a horse-hair sofa, and a green carpet:  a large
102:018,28['  ]| stout woman, with reddish hair, in$4$ a silk frock, and gold chains, and Mr*George
102:018,29['  ]| introducing her as Mrs*Watson, otherwise Aunt*Matilda.  She put
102:018,30['  ]| diamond-ringed hands on$4$ Jack's shoulders and looked into his face, which$6#1$
102:018,31['  ]| he thought a repellant procedure.
102:018,32[F  ]| "So$5#1$ like$4$ your father, dear boy; how is your dear mother?"
102:018,33['  ]| And in$4$ spite of his inward fury of resistance, she kissed him.  For$3$ she was
102:018,34['  ]| but a woman of forty-two.
102:018,35[A  ]| "Quite well, thank you," 
102:018,35['  ]| said Jack, though considering he had been at sea
102:018,36['  ]| for$4$ six weeks, he knew as little about his mother's health as did Aunt*Matilda
102:018,37['  ]| herself.
102:018,38[C  ]| "Did you blow your candle out?" 
102:018,38['  ]| asked Mr*Geoge.
102:018,39[D  ]| "No$7$, he did not," 
102:018,39['  ]| answered the tawny girl, 
102:018,39[D  ]| "\I will$1$\ go and do it."
102:018,40['  ]| And she flashed away upstairs like$4$ a panther.
102:018,41[C  ]| "I suppose the twins introduced themselves," 
102:018,41['  ]| said Mr*George.
102:018,42[D  ]| "No$7$, they did not," 
102:018,42['  ]| said the other one.
102:018,43[C  ]| "Only christened you Bow.  You will$1$ be somebody or other's beau before very
102:018,44[C  ]| long, I will$1$ warrant.  This is Grace, Grace*Ellis, you know, where you are going to$9$
102:018,45[C  ]| live.  And her sister who$6#1$ has gone upstairs to$9$ blow your candle out, is Monica.
102:019,01[C  ]| Can not be too careful of fire in$4$ these dry places.  Most folks say they can not tell
102:019,02[C  ]| them apart, but I call it nonsense."
102:019,03[D  ]| "9Ancien, 9Beau, 9bon, 9cher, adjectives which$6#1$ precede," 
102:019,03['  ]| said the one called
102:019,04['  ]| Monica, jerking herself into the room, after blowing out the candle.
102:019,05[C  ]| "There is your father," 
102:019,05['  ]| said Mr*George.  And Aunt*Matilda fluttered into
102:019,06['  ]| the hall, while the twins betrayed no$2$ interest at all.  The tawny one stared at
102:019,07['  ]| Jack and kept slinking about like$4$ a lean young panther, to$9$ get a different
102:019,08['  ]| view of him.  For$4$ all the world as if she was going to$9$ pounce on$4$ him, like$4$ a cat
102:019,09['  ]| on$4$ a bird.  He, permanently flushed, kept his self-possession in$4$ a boyish and
102:019,10['  ]| rather handsome, if stiff, manner.
102:019,11['  ]| Mr*Ellis was stout, clean-shaven, red-faced, and shabby and baggy and
102:019,12['  ]| good-natured in$4$ appearance.
102:019,13[C  ]| "This is the young gentleman ~~ Mr*Grant ~~ called in$4$ Westralia Bow, so$5#2$
102:019,14[C  ]| named by$4$ Miss*Monica*Ellis."
102:019,15[D  ]| "By$4$ Miss*Grace, if you please," 
102:019,15['  ]| snapped Monica.
102:019,16[F  ]| "Tea is ready.  Tea is ready."
102:019,17['  ]| They trooped into the dining*room where a large table was spread.  Aunt*Matilda
102:019,18['  ]| seated herself behind the tea-kettle, Mr*George sat at the other end,
102:019,19['  ]| before the pile of plates and carvers, and the others took their places
102:019,20['  ]| where they would.  Jack modestly sat on$4$ Aunt*Matilda's left hand, so$3$ the
102:019,21['  ]| tawny Monica at once pounced on$4$ the chair opposite.
102:019,22['  ]| Entered the Good Plain Cook with a dish covered with a pewter cover, and
102:019,23['  ]| followed by$4$ a small, dark, ugly, quiet girl carrying the vegetable dishes.
102:019,24[C  ]| "That$6#2$ is my niece, Mary, Jack.  Lives with Aunt*Matilda here, who$6#1$ will$1$ not
102:019,25[C  ]| spare her or I would have her to$9$ live here with me.  Now you know everybody.
102:019,26[C  ]| What is for$4$ tea?"
102:019,27['  ]| He was dangerously clashing the knife on$4$ the steel.  Then lifting the cover,
102:019,28['  ]| he disclosed a young pig roasted in$4$ all its glory of gravy.  Mary meanwhile had
102:019,29['  ]| nodded her head at Jack and looked at him with her big, queer, very black
102:019,30['  ]| eyes.  You might have thought she had native blood.  She sat down to$9$ serve the
102:019,31['  ]| vegetables.
102:019,32[F  ]| "Grace, there is a fly in$4$ the milk," 
102:019,32['  ]| said Aunt*Matilda, who$6#1$ was already
102:019,33['  ]| pouring large cups of tea.  Grace seized the milk jug and jerked from the
102:019,34['  ]| room.
102:019,35[F  ]| "Do you take milk and sugar, as your dear father used to$9$, John?"  
102:019,35['  ]| asked
102:019,36['  ]| Aunt*Matilda of the youth on$4$ her left.
102:019,37[C  ]| "Call him Bow. Bow is his name out here ~~ John is too stiff and Jack is too
102:019,38[C  ]| common!"  
102:019,38['  ]| exclaimed Mr*George, elbows deep in$4$ carving.
102:019,39[G  ]| "Bow will$1$ do for$4$ me," 
102:019,39['  ]| put in$5$ Mr*Ellis, who$6#1$ said little.
102:019,40[F  ]| "Mary, is there any mustard?"  
102:019,40['  ]| said Aunt*Matilda.
102:019,41['  ]| Jack rose vaguely to$9$ go and get it, but Aunt*Matilda seized him by$4$ the arm
102:019,42['  ]| and pushed him back.
102:019,43[F  ]| "Sit still.  She knows where it is."
102:019,44[G  ]| "Monica, come and carry the cups, there is a good girl."
102:019,45[C  ]| "Now, which$6#2$ end of the pig do you like$1$, Jack?"  
102:019,45['  ]| asked Mr*George.
102:020,01[C  ]| "Matilda, will$1$ this do for$4$ you?"  
102:020,01['  ]| He held up$5$ a piece on$4$ the fork.  Mary
102:020,02['  ]| arrived with a ponderous gyrating cruet-stand, which$6#1$ she made place for$4$ in$4$
102:020,03['  ]| the middle of the table.
102:020,04[F  ]| "What about bread?"  
102:020,04['  ]| said Aunt*Matilda.  
102:020,04[F  ]| "I am sure John eats bread with his
102:020,05[F  ]| meat.  Fetch some bread, Grace, for$4$ your cousin John."
102:020,06@a   | "Everybody did it," 
102:020,06['  ]| thought Jack in$4$ despair, as he tried to$9$ eat amid the
102:020,07['  ]| bustle.  
102:020,07@a   | "No$2$ servants, nothing ever still.  On$4$ the go all the time."
102:020,08[C  ]| "Girls going to$4$ the concert to-night?"  
102:020,08['  ]| asked Mr*George.
102:020,09[D  ]| "If anybody will$1$ go with us," 
102:020,09['  ]| replied Monica, with a tawny look at Jack.
102:020,10[C  ]| "There is Bow," 
102:020,10['  ]| said Mr*George, 
102:020,10[C  ]| "Bow will$1$ like$1$ to$9$ go."
102:020,11['  ]| Under the she-lion peering of Monica, Jack was incapable of answer.
102:020,12[F  ]| "Let the poor boy rest," 
102:020,12['  ]| said Aunt*Matilda.  
102:020,12[F  ]| "Just landed after a six
102:020,13[F  ]| thousand mile voyage, and you rush him out next minute to$4$ a concert.  Let
102:020,14[F  ]| him stop at home quietly with me, and have a quiet chat about the dear ones
102:020,15[F  ]| he has left behind.  Are not \you\ going to$4$ the concert with the girls, Jacob?"
102:020,16['  ]| This was addressed to$4$ Mr*Ellis, who$6#1$ took a gulp of tea and shook his head
102:020,17['  ]| mutely.
102:020,18[A  ]| "I would rather go to$4$ the concert, I think," 
102:020,18['  ]| said Jack, under the queer yellow
102:020,19['  ]| glower of Monica's eyes, and the full black gaze of Mary's.
102:020,20[C  ]| "Good for$4$ you, my boy," 
102:020,20['  ]| said Mr*George.  
102:020,20[C  ]| "Bow by$4$ name and Bow by$4$
102:020,21[C  ]| nature.  And well set up$5$, with three strings to$4$ his Bow already.
102:020,22['  ]| Monica once more peered tawnily, and Mary glanced a black, furtive
102:020,23['  ]| glance.  Aunt*Matilda looked down on$4$ him, and Grace, at his side, peered up$5$.
102:020,24['  ]| For$4$ the first time since childhood, Jack found himself in$4$ a really female
102:020,25['  ]| setting.  Instinctively he had avoided women:  but particularly he avoided
102:020,26['  ]| girls.  With girls and women he felt exposed to$4$ some sort of danger ~~ as if
102:020,27['  ]| something were going to$9$ seize him by$4$ the neck, from behind, when he was not
102:020,28['  ]| looking.  He relied on$4$ men for$4$ safety.  
102:020,28@a   | But curiously enough, these two
102:020,29@a   | elderly men gave him no$2$ shelter whatever.  They seemed to$9$ throw him a
102:020,30@a   | victim to$4$ these frightful "lambs."  In$4$ England, there was an \9esprit*de*corps\
102:020,31@a   | among men.  Man for$4$ man was a tower of strength against the females.  Here
102:020,32@a   | in$4$ this place men deserted one another as soon as the women put in$5$ an
102:020,33@a   | appearance.  They left the field entirely to$4$ the females.
102:020,34['  ]| In$4$ the first half-hour Jack realised he was thrown a victim to$4$ these tawny
102:020,35['  ]| and black young cats.  And there was nothing to$9$ do but bear up$5$.
102:020,36[E  ]| "Have you got an evening*suit?"  
102:020,36['  ]| asked Grace, who$6#1$ was always the one to$9$
102:020,37['  ]| ponder things out.
102:020,38[A  ]| "Yes ~~ a sort of a one," 
102:020,38['  ]| said Jack.
102:020,39[E  ]| "Oh, good!  Oh, put it on$5$!  Do put it on$5$."
102:020,40[C  ]| "Leave the lad alone," 
102:020,40['  ]| said Mr*George.  
102:020,40[C  ]| "Let him go as he is."
102:020,41[F  ]| "No$7$," 
102:020,41['  ]| said Aunt*Matilda.  
102:020,41[F  ]| "He has his father's handsome presence.  Let him
102:020,42[F  ]| make the best of himself.  I think I will$1$ go to$4$ the concert after all."
102:020,43['  ]| After dinner there was a bustle.  Monica flew up$5$ to$9$ light his candle for$4$ him,
102:020,44['  ]| and stood there peering behind the flame when he came upstairs.
102:020,45[D  ]| "You have not much time," 
102:020,45['  ]| she said, as if she were going to$9$ spear him.
102:021,01[A  ]| "All right," 
102:021,01['  ]| he answered, in$4$ his hoarse young voice.  And he stood in$4$
102:021,02['  ]| torment till she left his room.
102:021,03['  ]| He was just trying his tie when there came a flutter and a tapping.  Aunt*Matilda's
102:021,04['  ]| voice was saying:  
102:021,04[F  ]| "Nearly time.  Are you almost ready?"
102:021,05[A  ]| "Half a minute!"  
102:021,05['  ]| he crowed hoarsely, like$4$ an unhappy young cock.
102:021,06['  ]| But the door stealthily opened, and Aunt*Matilda peeped in$5$.
102:021,07[F  ]| "Oh, tying his tie!"  
102:021,07['  ]| she said, satisfactorily, when she perceived that$3$ he was
102:021,08['  ]| dressed as far as discretion demanded.  And she entered in$4$ full blow.  Behind
102:021,09['  ]| her hovered Grace ~~ then Monica ~~ and in$4$ the doorway, Mary.  It seemed to$4$
102:021,10['  ]| Jack that$3$ Aunt*Matilda was the most objectionable of the lot, Monica the
102:021,11['  ]| brazenest, Grace the most ill-mannered, and Mary the most repulsive, with
102:021,12['  ]| her dark face.  He struggled in$4$ discomfort with his tie.
102:021,13[F  ]| "Let Mary do it," 
102:021,13['  ]| said Aunt*Matilda.
102:021,14[A  ]| "No$7$, no$7$," 
102:021,14['  ]| he barked.  
102:021,14[A  ]| "I can do it."
102:021,15[F  ]| "Come on$5$, Mary.  Come and tie John's tie."
102:021,16['  ]| Mary came quietly forward.
102:021,17[B  ]| "Let me do it for$4$ you, Bow," 
102:021,17['  ]| she said in$4$ her quiet, insinuating voice,
102:021,18['  ]| looking at him with her inky eyes and standing in$4$ front of him till his knees
102:021,19['  ]| felt weak and his throat strangled.  He was purple in$4$ the face, struggling with
102:021,20['  ]| his tie in$4$ the presence of the lambs.
102:021,21[D  ]| "He will$1$ never get it done," 
102:021,21['  ]| said Monica, from behind the yellow glare.
102:021,22[B  ]| "Let me do it," 
102:021,22['  ]| said Mary, and lifting her hands decisively she took the two
102:021,23['  ]| ends of the tie from him.
102:021,24['  ]| He held his breath and lifted his eyes to$4$ the ceiling and felt as if the front of
102:021,25['  ]| his body were being roasted.  Mary, the devil-puss, seemed endless ages
102:021,26['  ]| fastening the tie.  Then she twisted it at his throat and it was done, just as he
102:021,27['  ]| was on$4$ the point of suffocation.
102:021,28[E  ]| "Are those your best braces?"  
102:021,28['  ]| asked Grace.  
102:021,28[E  ]| "They are awfully pretty with
102:021,29[E  ]| rose-buds."  
102:021,29['  ]| And she fingered the band.
102:021,30[F  ]| "I suppose you put on$5$ evening dress for$4$ the last dinner on$4$ board," 
102:021,30['  ]| said
102:021,31['  ]| Aunt*Matilda.  
102:021,31[F  ]| "Nothing makes me cry like$4$ \Auld*Lang*Syne\, that$6#2$ last night,
102:021,32[F  ]| before you land next day.  But it is fifteen years since I went over to$4$ England."
102:021,33[E  ]| "I do not suppose we shall any of us ever go," 
102:021,33['  ]| said Grace longingly.
102:021,34[D  ]| "Unless you marry Bow," 
102:021,34['  ]| said Monica abruptly.
102:021,35[E  ]| "I can not marry him unless he asks me," 
102:021,35['  ]| said Grace.
102:021,36[F  ]| "He will$1$ ask nobody for$4$ a good many years to$9$ come," 
102:021,36['  ]| said Aunt*Matilda with
102:021,37['  ]| satisfaction.
102:021,38[E  ]| "Has not he got lovely eyelashes," 
102:021,38['  ]| said Grace impersonally.
102:021,39[D  ]| "He would almost do for$4$ a girl," 
102:021,39['  ]| said Monica.
102:021,40[B  ]| "Not if you look at his ears," 
102:021,40['  ]| said Mary, with odd decision.  He felt that$3$
102:021,41['  ]| Mary was bent on$4$ saving his manhood.
102:021,42['  ]| He breathed as if the air around him were red-hot.  
102:021,42@a   | He would have to$9$ get
102:021,43@a   | out, or die.  
102:021,43['  ]| He plunged into his coat, pulling down his shirt-cuffs with a jerk.
102:021,44[E  ]| "What funny green cuff-links," 
102:021,44['  ]| said Grace.  
102:021,44[E  ]| "Are they pot?"
102:021,45[A  ]| "Malachite," 
102:021,45['  ]| said Jack.
102:022,01[E  ]| "What is malachite?"
102:022,02['  ]| There was no$2$ answer.  He put a white silk muffler round his neck to$9$ protect
102:022,03['  ]| his collar.
102:022,04[E  ]| "Oh, look at his initials in$4$ lavender silk!"
102:022,05['  ]| At last he was in$4$ his overcoat, and in$4$ the street with the bevy.
102:022,06[E  ]| "Leave your overcoat open, so$3$ it shows your shirtfront as you walk," 
102:022,06['  ]| said
102:022,07['  ]| Grace, forcibly unbuttoning the said coat.  
102:022,07[E  ]| "I think that$6#2$ looks so$5#1$ lovely.
102:022,08[E  ]| Does not he look lovely, Monica?  Everybody will$1$ be asking who$6#1$ he is."
102:022,09[F  ]| "Tell them he is the son of General*Grant," 
102:022,09['  ]| said Aunt*Matilda, with complete
102:022,10['  ]| satisfaction, as she sailed at his side.
102:022,11['  ]| Life is principally a matter of endurance.  This was the sum of Jack's
102:022,12['  ]| philosophy.  He put it into practice this evening.
102:022,13['  ]| It was a benefit concert in$4$ the Town*Hall, with the Episcopalian*Choir
102:022,14['  ]| singing "Angels*Ever*Bright*and*Fair," and a violinist from Germany playing
102:022,15['  ]| violin solos, and a lady vocalist from Melbourne singing "home" solos, while
102:022,16['  ]| local stars variously coruscated.  Aunt*Matilda filled up$4$ the end of the
102:022,17['  ]| seat ~~ like$4$ a massive book-end; and the others like$4$ slender volumes of
102:022,18['  ]| romance were squeezed in$5$ between her and another stout book-end.  jack
102:022,19['  ]| had the heaving warmth of Aunt*Matilda on$4$ his right, the electric wriggle of
102:022,20['  ]| Monica on$4$ his left, and he continued to$9$ breathe red-hot air.
102:022,21['  ]| The concert was a ludicrous continuation of shameful and ridiculous
102:022,22['  ]| noise, to$4$ him.  Each item seemed inordinately long and he hoped for$4$ the
102:022,23['  ]| next, which$6#1$, when it came, seemed worse than the last.  The people who$6#1$
102:022,24['  ]| performed seemed to$4$ him in$4$ a ghastly humiliating position.  One stout
102:022,25['  ]| mother-of-thousands leaned forward and simply gurgled about 
102:022,25@v   | riding over
102:022,26@v   | the brow of a hill and seeing a fair city beyond, and a young knight in$4$ silver
102:022,27@v   | armour riding toward her with shining face, to$9$ greet her on$4$ the spot as his
102:022,28@v   | lady fair and lady dear.  
102:022,28['  ]| Jack looked at her in$4$ pained amazement.  And yet
102:022,29['  ]| when the songstress from Melbourne, in$4$ a rich contralto, began to$9$ moan in$4$ a
102:022,30['  ]| Scotch accent:
102:022,31@z   | "And it is o-o-oh!  that$3$ I am longing for$4$ my ain folk,
102:022,32@z   | Though the-e-ey be but lowly, puir and plain folk ~~
102:022,33@z   | I am far across the sea
102:022,34@z   | But my heart will$1$ ever bee-ee
102:022,35@z   | At home in$4$ dear old Scotland with my ain folk."
102:022,36['  ]| Jack suddenly wanted to$9$ howl.  He had never been to$4$ Scotland and his father,
102:022,37['  ]| General*Grant, with his mother, was at present in$4$ Malta.  And he had not got
102:022,38['  ]| any "ain folk," and he did not want any.  Yet it was all he could do to$9$ keep the
102:022,39['  ]| tears from showing in$4$ his eyes, as his heart fairly broke in$4$ him.  And Aunt*Matilda
102:022,40['  ]| crowded him a little more suffocatingly on$4$ the right, and Monica
102:022,41['  ]| wriggled more hatefully than ever on$4$ the left, and the beastly Mary leaned
102:022,42['  ]| forward to$9$ glance appreciatively at him, with her low-down black eyes.  And
102:022,43['  ]| he felt as if the front of his body was scorched.  And a smouldering desire for$4$
102:022,44['  ]| revenge awoke deep down in$4$ him.
102:022,45@a   | People were always trying to$9$ "do things" to$4$ you.  Why could not they leave
102:023,01@a   | you alone?  Dirty cads, to$9$ sing "My*Ain*Folk," and then stare in$4$ your face to$9$
102:023,02@a   | see how it got you.
102:023,03['  ]| But life was a matter of endurance, with possible revenge later on$5$.
102:023,04['  ]| When at last he got home and could go to$4$ bed, he felt he had gained a brief
102:023,05['  ]| respite.  There was no$2$ lock to$4$ the door ~~ so$3$ he put the arm-chair against it, for$4$
102:023,06['  ]| a barricade.
102:023,07['  ]| And he felt 
102:023,07@a   | he had been once more sold.  
102:023,07['  ]| He had thought 
102:023,07@a   | he was coming to$4$
102:023,08@a   | a wild and woolly world.  But all the way out he had been forced to$9$ play the
102:023,09@a   | gentlemanly son of his father.  And here it was hell on$4$ earth, with these
102:023,10@a   | women let loose all over you, and these ghastly concerts, and these hideous
102:023,11@a   | meals, and these awful, flimsy, choky houses.  Far better the Agricultural*College.
102:023,12@a   | Far better England.
102:023,13['  ]| He was sick with homesickness as he flung himself into bed.  And it seemed
102:023,14['  ]| to$4$ him 
102:023,14@a   | he was always homesick for$4$ some place which$6#1$ he had never known
102:023,15@a   | and perhaps never would know.  He was always homesick for$4$ somewhere
102:023,16@a   | else.  He always hated where he was, silently but deeply.
102:023,17@a   | Different people.  The place would be all right, but for$4$ the people.
102:023,18@a   | He hated women.  He hated the kind of nausea he felt after they had
102:023,19@a   | crowded on$4$ him.  The yellow cat-eyes of that$6#2$ deadly Monica!  The inky eyes of
102:023,20@a   | that$6#2$ low-down Mary!  The big nose of that$6#2$ Grace; she was the most tolerable.
102:023,21@a   | And the indecency of the red-haired Aunt*Matilda, with her gold chains.
102:023,22['  ]| He flung his trousers in$4$ one direction, and the loathsome starched shirt in$4$
102:023,23['  ]| another, and his underwear in$4$ another.  When he was quite clear of all his
102:023,24['  ]| clothing he clenched his fists and reached them up$5$, and stretched hard, hard
102:023,25['  ]| as if to$9$ stretch himelf clear of it all.  Then he did a few thoughtless exercises,
102:023,26['  ]| to$9$ shake off the world.  As a dog coming out of the water shakes himself,
102:023,27['  ]| so$3$ Jack stood there slowly, intensely going through his exercises, slowly
102:023,28['  ]| sloughing the contact of the world from his young, resistant white body.  And
102:023,29['  ]| his hair fell loose into curl, and the alert defiance came into his eyes as he
102:023,30['  ]| threw apart his arms and opened his young chest.  
102:023,30@a   | Anything, anything to$9$
102:023,31@a   | forget the world and to$9$ throw the contact of people off his limbs and his
102:023,32@a   | chest.  
102:023,32['  ]| Keen and savage as a Greek gymnast he struck the air with his arms,
102:023,33['  ]| with his legs.
102:023,34['  ]| Till at last he felt 
102:023,34@a   | he had broken through the mesh.  His blood was running
102:023,35@a   | free, he had shattered the film that$6#1$ other people put over him, as if snails had
102:023,36@a   | crawled over him.  His skin was free and alive.  
102:023,36['  ]| He glowered at the door, and
102:023,37['  ]| made the barricade more safe.
102:023,38['  ]| Then he dived into his night-shirt, and felt the world was his own again.  At
102:023,39['  ]| least in$4$ his own immediate vicinity.  Which$6#1$ was all he cared about for$4$ the
102:023,40['  ]| moment.
103:024,01['  ]| Jack started before dawn next morning, for$4$ Wandoo.  Mr*George had
103:024,02['  ]| business which$6#1$ took him south, so$3$ he decided to$9$ carry the boy along on$4$
103:024,03['  ]| the coach.  Mr*Ellis also was returning home in$4$ the coach, but the twins,
103:024,04['  ]| those lambs, were staying behind.  In$4$ the chilly dark, Jack climbed the front
103:024,05['  ]| of the buggy to$9$ sit on$4$ the seat beside the driver.  He was huddled in$4$ his
103:024,06['  ]| overcoat, the happiest boy alive.  For$4$ now at last he was "getting away," as he
103:024,07['  ]| always wanted to$9$ "get away."  From what, he did not stop to$9$ consider, and still
103:024,08['  ]| less did he realise \towards\ what.  Because however far you may get away from
103:024,09['  ]| one thing, by$4$ so$5#1$ much do you draw near to$4$ another.
103:024,10['  ]| And this is the Fata*Morgana of Liberty, of Freedom.  She may lead you
103:024,11['  ]| very definitely away from to-day's prison.  But she also very definitely leads
103:024,12['  ]| you towards some other prison.  Liberty is a changing of prisons, to$9$ people
103:024,13['  ]| who$6#1$ seek \only\ liberty.
103:024,14['  ]| Away went the buggy at a spanking trot, the driver pointing out the
103:024,15['  ]| phosphoric glow of the river, as they descended to$4$ the Causeway.  Stars still
103:024,16['  ]| shone overhead, but the sky was beginning to$9$ open inland.  The buggy ran
103:024,17['  ]| softly over the damp sand, the two horses were full of life.  There was an
103:024,18['  ]| aroma of damp sand, and a fresh breeze from the driver as they crossed.
103:024,19['  ]| Jack did not want to$9$ talk.  But the driver could not miss the opportunity.
103:024,20[W  ]| "I drives this coach backards and forrards to$4$ Albany week in$5$ week out,
103:024,21[W  ]| years without end, amen, and a good two hundred miles of land to$9$ cover,
103:024,22[W  ]| taking six days clear with two 'osses, and them in$4$ relays fifteen or twenty
103:024,23[W  ]| miles, sometimes over, as on$4$ the outland reach past Wagin."
103:024,24[A  ]| "Ever get held up$5$?"
103:024,25[W  ]| "No$7$, sir, can not say as I do.  Who$6#2$ would there be to$9$ hold me up$5$ in$4$ Western*Australia?
103:024,26[W  ]| And if there was, the mounted police  would soon settle them.  There is
103:024,27[W  ]| nobody to$9$ hold me up$5$ but my old woman, and she drives the coach for$4$ me up$5$
103:024,28[W  ]| Middle*Swan way."
103:024,29[A  ]| "Can she drive?"
103:024,30[W  ]| "You back your life she can.  Bred and born to$4$ it.  Drive, and swear at the
103:024,31[W  ]| 'osses like$4$ a trooper, when she has a mind.  Swear!  I would never have thought it of her,
103:024,32[W  ]| when I rode behind her as a groom."
103:024,33[A  ]| "How?"
103:024,34[W  ]| "Oh, she took me in$5$, she did, pretty.  But, after all, what is a lady but a
103:024,35[W  ]| woman!  Though far be it from me to$9$ say:  ""What is a woman but a lady!"  If I had
103:024,36[W  ]| gone down on$4$ my hands and knees to$4$ her in$4$ them days I should have
103:024,37[W  ]| expected her to$9$ kick me.  And what does she do?  Rode out of the park gates
103:025,01[W  ]| and stopped.  So$3$ she did.  Turns to$4$ me.  
103:025,01@v   | ""Grey,"" 
103:025,01[W  ]| she says, 
103:025,01@v   | ""here is money.  You go
103:025,02@v   | to$4$ London and buy yourself clothes like$4$ what a grocer would buy.  Avoid
103:025,03@v   | looking like$4$ a butler or a groom.  And when you have got an outfit, dress and
103:025,04@v   | make yourself look like$4$ a grocer,"" 
103:025,04[W  ]| she said, though I never had any connections
103:025,05[W  ]| with grocery in$4$ my life, 
103:025,05@v   | ""and go to$4$ the office in$4$ Victoria*Street and take
103:025,06@v   | two passages to$4$ Australia.""  
103:025,06[W  ]| That$6#2$ was what she said.  Just Australia.  When the
103:025,07[W  ]| man in$4$ the office asked me where to$4$ in$4$ Australia, I did not know what to$9$ say.
103:025,08@w   | ""Oh, we will$1$ go in$5$ at the first gate,"" 
103:025,08[W  ]| I said.  And so$3$ it was Freemantle.  
103:025,08@v   | ""Yes,"" 
103:025,08[W  ]| she
103:025,09[W  ]| said, 
103:025,09@v   | ""we are going to$9$ elope.""  
103:025,09@w   | ""Nice thing for$4$ me,"" 
103:025,09[W  ]| thinks I.  But I say, 
103:025,09@w   | ""All right,
103:025,10@w   | miss.""  
103:025,10[W  ]| She was a pearl beyond price, was Miss*Ethel.  So$3$ she seemed to$4$ me
103:025,11[W  ]| then.  Now she is a termagant as ever was:  in$4$ double 'arness, collar-proud."
103:025,12['  ]| The coachman flicked the horses.  Jack looked at him in$4$ amazement.  He
103:025,13['  ]| was a man with a whitish-looking beard, in$4$ the dim light.
103:025,14[A  ]| "And did she have any children?"
103:025,15[W  ]| "She has got five."
103:025,16[A  ]| "And does she regret it?"
103:025,17[W  ]| "At times, I suppose.  But as I say to$4$ her, if anybody was took in$5$, it was me.
103:025,18[W  ]| \I\ always thought her a perfect lady.  So$3$ when she lets fly at me:  
103:025,18@v   | ""Call yourself a
103:025,19@v   | man?"" 
103:025,19[W  ]| I just say to$4$ her:  
103:025,19@w   | ""Call yourself a lady?""  
103:025,19[W  ]| And she comes round all right."
103:025,20['  ]| Jack's consciousness began to$9$ go dim.  He was aware of a strange dim
103:025,21['  ]| booming almost like$4$ guns in$4$ the distance, and the driver's voice saying,
103:025,22[W  ]| "Frogs, sir.  Way back in$4$ the days before ever a British ship came here, they
103:025,23[W  ]| say the Dutchmen came and was frightened off by$4$ the croaking of the bull
103:025,24[W  ]| frogs.  Could not make it out a-nohow"!  
103:025,24['  ]| The horses' hoofs were echoing on$4$
103:025,25['  ]| the boarded Causeway, and from the little islands alongside came the amazing
103:025,26['  ]| croaking, barking, booing and booming of the frogs.
103:025,27['  ]| When Jack looked round again it was day.  And the driver's beard was black.
103:025,28['  ]| He was a man with a thin red face and black beard and queer grey eyes that$6#1$
103:025,29['  ]| had a mocking sort of secret in$4$ them.
103:025,30[A  ]| "I thought your beard was white," 
103:025,30['  ]| said Jack.
103:025,31[W  ]| "Ay, with rime.  With frost.  Not with anything else."
103:025,32[A  ]| "I did not expect hoar-frost here."
103:025,33[W  ]| "Well ~~ it is not so$5#1$ \very\ common.  Not like$4$ the Old*Country."
103:025,34['  ]| Jack realised 
103:025,34@a   | they always spoke patronisingly of the Old*Country, poor old
103:025,35@a   | place, as if it could not help being what it was.
103:025,36['  ]| The man's grey eyes with the amused secret glanced quickly at Jack.
103:025,37[W  ]| "Not quite awake yet?"  
103:025,37['  ]| he said.
103:025,38[A  ]| "Oh, yes," 
103:025,38['  ]| said Jack.
103:025,39[W  ]| "Coming out to$9$ settle, I hope,"  
103:025,39['  ]| said the driver.  
103:025,39[W  ]| "We can do with a few
103:025,40[W  ]| spruce young lads.  I have got five daughters to$9$ contend with.  Why, there is six
103:025,41[W  ]| A%*1% families in$4$ Perth, maybe you have heard, and six in$4$ the country, and
103:026,01[W  ]| possibly six round Fremantle, and nary one of them but has got seven daughters.
103:026,02[W  ]| Seven daughters ~~ "
103:026,03['  ]| Jack did not hear.  He seemed to$9$ be saying, in$4$ reply to$4$ some question, 
103:026,03@a   | "I am
103:026,04@a   | Jack*Hector*Grant."
103:026,05@x   | "Contrairy" 
103:026,05['  ]| the servants had called him, and 
103:026,05@x   | "naughty little boy," 
103:026,05['  ]| his
103:026,06['  ]| aunts.  
103:026,06@x   | Insubordinate, untrustworthy.  
103:026,06['  ]| Such things they said of him.  His soul
103:026,07['  ]| pricked from all the things, but he guessed they were not far wrong.
103:026,08@a   | What did his mother think of him?  And his father?  He did not know them
103:026,09@a   | very well.  They only came home sometimes, and then they seemed to$4$ him
103:026,10@a   | reasonable and delightful people.  
103:026,10@v   | The Wandering Grants, 
103:026,10@a   | Lady*Bewley had
103:026,11@a   | called them.
103:026,12@a   | Was he a liar?  When they called him a liar, was it true?  It was.  And yet he
103:026,13@a   | never really \felt\ a liar.  
103:026,13@v   | "Do not ask, and you will$1$ get no$2$ lies told you."  
103:026,13@a   | It was a
103:026,14@a   | phrase from his nurse, and he always wanted to$9$ use it to$4$ his hateful Aunts.
103:026,15@x   | "Say you are sorry!  Say you are sorry!"  
103:026,15@a   | Was not that$6#2$ \forcing\ him to$9$ tell lies, when
103:026,16@a   | he \was not\ sorry.  His aunts always seemed to$4$ him despicable liars.  He himself
103:026,17@a   | was just an ordinary liar.  He lied because he \did not\ want them to$9$ know what
103:026,18@a   | he had done, even when he had done right.
103:026,19@a   | So$3$ they threatened him with that$6#2$ loathsome "policeman."  Or they dropped
103:026,20@a   | him over the garden fence into the field beyond.  There he sat in$4$ a sort of
103:026,21@a   | Crusoe solitary confinement.  A vast row of back fences, and a vast, vast field.
103:026,22@a   | Himself squatting immovable, and an Aunt coming to$9$ demand sharply
103:026,23@a   | through the fence:  
103:026,23@v   | "Say you are sorry.  Say you want to$9$ be a good little boy.  Say
103:026,24@v   | it, or you will$1$ not come in$5$ to$4$ dinner.  You will$1$ stay there all night."
103:026,25@a   | He was not sorry, he did not want to$9$ be a good little boy, therefore he
103:026,26@a   | would not "say it"; so$3$ he got a piece of bread and butter pushed through the
103:026,27@a   | fence.  And then he faced the emptiness of the field and set off, to$9$ find
103:026,28@a   | himself somehow in$4$ the kitchen-garden of the manor-house.  A servant had
103:026,29@a   | seen him, and brought him before her ladyship, who$6#1$ was herself walking in$4$
103:026,30@a   | the garden.
103:026,31@v   | "Who$6#2$ are you, little boy?"
103:026,32@a   | "I am Jack*Hector*Grant" ~~ a pause ~~ "Who$6#2$ are you?"
103:026,33@v   | "I am Lady*Bewley."
103:026,34@a   | They eyed one another.
103:026,35@v   | "And where were you wandering to$4$, in$4$ my garden?"
103:026,36@a   | "I was not wand'rin'.  I was walkin'."
103:026,37@v   | "Were you?  Come then, and walk with me, will$1$ you?"
103:026,38@a   | She took his hand and led him along a path.  He did not quite know if he was
103:026,39@a   | a prisoner.  But her hand was gentle, and she seemed a quiet, sad lady.  She
103:026,40@a   | stepped with him through wide-open window-doors.  He looked uneasily
103:026,41@a   | round the drawing-room, then at the quiet lady.
103:026,42@a   | "Where was \you\ born?"  he asked her.
103:026,43@v   | "Why, you funny boy, I was born in$4$ this house."
103:026,44@a   | "My mother was not.  She was born in$4$ Australia.  And my father was born in$4$
103:026,45@a   | India.  And I can not remember where I was born."
103:027,01@a   | A servant had brought in$5$ the tea-tray.  The child was sitting on$4$ a foot-stool.
103:027,02@a   | The lady seemed not to$9$ be listening.  There was a dark cake.
103:027,03@a   | "My mother said I was not never to$9$ ask for$4$ cake, but if somebody was to$9$
103:027,04@a   | offer me some I need not say No$7$ fank you."
103:027,05@v   | "Yes, you shall have some cake," 
103:027,05@a   | said the lady.  
103:027,05@v   | "So$3$ you are one of the
103:027,06@v   | wandering Grants, and you do not know where you were born?"
103:027,07@a   | "But I think I was born in$4$ my mother's bed."
103:027,08@v   | "I suppose you were.  And how old are you?"
103:027,09@a   | "I am four.  How old are you?"
103:027,10@v   | "A great deal older than that$6#2$.  But tell me, what \were\ you doing in$4$ my
103:027,11@v   | garden?"
103:027,12@a   | "I do not know.  Well, I comed by$4$ mistake."
103:027,13@v   | "How was that$6#2$?"
103:027,14@a   | "'Cause I would not say I was sorry I told a lie.  Well, I was not sorry.  But I
103:027,15@a   | was not wandrin' in$4$ your garden.  I was only walkin'.  I was walkin' out of the
103:027,16@a   | meadow where they put me ~~ "
103:027,17[W  ]| " ~~ And as I says, she may have been born in$4$ a 'all, but she will$1$ die in$4$ a
103:027,18[W  ]| wooden shack ~~ "
103:027,19[A  ]| "Who$6#2$?  Who$6#2$ will$1$?"
103:027,20[W  ]| "I was tellin' you about my old woman.  Look!  There is a joey runnin' there
103:027,21[W  ]| along the track."
103:027,22['  ]| Jack looked and saw a funny little animal half leaping, half running along.
103:027,23[W  ]| "We call them baby 'roos joeys, you understand, and they make the cutest
103:027,24[W  ]| little pets you ever did imagine."
103:027,25['  ]| They were still in$4$ sandy country, on$4$ a good road not far from the river,
103:027,26['  ]| and Jack saw the little chap jump to$4$ cover.  The tall gum trees with their
103:027,27['  ]| brownish pale smooth stems and loose strips of bark stood tall and straight
103:027,28['  ]| and still, scattered like$4$ a thin forest that$6#1$ spread unending, rising from a low,
103:027,29['  ]| heath-like undergrowth.  It seemed open, and yet weird, enclosing you in$4$ its
103:027,30['  ]| vast emptiness.  This bush, that$6#1$ he had heard so$5#1$ much of!  The sun had
103:027,31['  ]| climbed out of the mist, and was becoming gold and powerful in$4$ a limpid sky.
103:027,32['  ]| The leaves of the gum trees hung like$4$ heavy narrow blades, inert and
103:027,33['  ]| colourless, in$4$ a weight of silence.  Save when they came to$4$ a more open place,
103:027,34['  ]| and a flock of green parrots flew shrieking "Twenty-eight!  Twenty-eight!"
103:027,35['  ]| At least that$6#2$ was what the driver said they cried.  The lower air was still
103:027,36['  ]| somewhat chilly from the mist.  A number of black-and-white handsome
103:027,37['  ]| birds, that$6#1$ they call magpies, flew alongside in$4$ the bush, keeping pace for$4$ a
103:027,38['  ]| time with the buggy.  And once a wallaby ran alongside for$4$ a while on$4$ the
103:027,39['  ]| path, a bigger 'roo than the joey, and very funny, leaping persistently
103:027,40['  ]| alongside with his little hands dangling.
103:027,41@a   | It \was\ a new country, after all.  It \was\ different.  A small exultance grew
103:027,42@a   | inside the youth.  After all, he \had\ got away, into a country that$6#1$ men had not
103:027,43@a   | yet clutched into their grip.  Where you could do as you liked, without being
103:027,44@a   | stifled by$4$ people.  
103:027,44['  ]| He still had a secret intention of doing as he liked, though
103:027,45['  ]| what it was he would do when he could do as he liked, he did not know.
103:028,01['  ]| Nothing very definite.  And yet something stirred in$4$ his bowels as he saw the
103:028,02['  ]| endless bush, and the noisy green parrots and the queer, tame kangaroos:
103:028,03['  ]| and no$2$ man.
103:028,04[W  ]| "It is dingy country down here," 
103:028,04['  ]| the coachman was saying:  
103:028,04[W  ]| "Not good for$4$
103:028,05[W  ]| much.  No$2$ good for$4$ nothing except cemetery, though Mr*George says he
103:028,06[W  ]| believes in$4$ it.  And there is nothing you \can\ do with it, seeing as how many
103:028,07[W  ]| gents what come in$4$ the first place has gone away for*ever, lock, stock and
103:028,08[W  ]| barrel, leaving nothing but their ""claims"" on$4$ the land itself, so$3$ nobody else can
103:028,09[W  ]| touch it."  
103:028,09['  ]| Here he shook the reins on$4$ the horses' backs.  
103:028,09[W  ]| "But I hopes you
103:028,10[W  ]| settles, and makes good, and marries and has children, like$4$ me and my old
103:028,11[W  ]| woman, sir.  She have put five daughters into the total, born in$4$ a shack, though
103:028,12[W  ]| their mother was born in$4$ Pontesbeach*Hall ~~ "
103:028,13['  ]| But Jack's mind drifted away from the driver.  He was in$4$ that$6#2$ third state,
103:028,14['  ]| not uncommon to$4$ youth, which$6#1$ seems to$9$ intervene between reality and
103:028,15['  ]| dream.  The bush, the coach, the wallabies, the coach-driver were not very
103:028,16['  ]| real to$4$ him.  Neither was his own self and his own past very real to$4$ him.  There
103:028,17['  ]| seemed to$4$ him to$9$ be another mute core to$4$ himself.  Apart from the known
103:028,18['  ]| Jack*Grant, and apart from the world as he had known it.  Even apart from
103:028,19['  ]| this Australia which$6#1$ was so$5#1$ unknown to$4$ him.
103:028,20['  ]| As a matter of fact, he had not yet come-to in$4$ Australia.  He had not yet
103:028,21['  ]| extricated himself from England and the ship.  Half of himself was left
103:028,22['  ]| behind, and the other half was gone ahead.  So$3$ there he sat, mute and stupid.
103:028,23['  ]| He only knew he wanted something, and he resented something.  He
103:028,24['  ]| resented having been so$5#1$ much found fault with.  They had hated him
103:028,25['  ]| because he preferred to$9$ make friends among "good-for-nothings."  But as he
103:028,26['  ]| saw it, "good-for-nothings" were the only ones that$6#1$ had any daring.  Not
103:028,27['  ]| altogether tamed.  He loathed the thought of harness.  He hated tameness,
103:028,28['  ]| hated it, hated it.  The thought of it made his innocent face take on$5$ a really
103:028,29['  ]| devilish look.  And because of his hatred of harness, he hated answering the
103:028,30['  ]| questions that$6#1$ people put to$4$ him.  Neither did he \ask\ many, for$4$ his own part.
103:028,31['  ]| But now one popped out.
103:028,32[A  ]| "There \are\ policemen here, are there?"
103:028,33[W  ]| "Yes, sir, a good force of mounted police, a smart body of men.  And
103:028,34[W  ]| they are needed.  Western*Australia is full of old prisoners, black fellers, and
103:028,35[W  ]| white ones too.  The whites, born here, is called ""gropers,"" if you take me, sir.
103:028,36[W  ]| Sandgropers.  And they all need protection one from the other.  And there is
103:028,37[W  ]| half-pay officers, civil and military, and clergy, scattered through the
103:028,38[W  ]| bush ~~ "
103:028,39@a   | "Need protecting from one another, and yet he says there is nobody to$9$ hold
103:028,40@a   | up$5$ the coach," 
103:028,40['  ]| thought Jack to$4$ himself, cynically.
103:028,41['  ]| The bush had alternated with patches of wild scrub.  But now came
103:028,42['  ]| clearings:  a little wooden house, and an orchard of trees planted in$4$ rows,
103:028,43['  ]| with a grazing field beyond.  Then more flat meadows, and ploughed spaces,
103:028,44['  ]| and a humpy or a shack here and there:  children playing around, and hens:
103:028,45['  ]| then a regular homestead, with verandah on$4$ either side, and creepers
103:029,01['  ]| climbing up$5$, and fences about.
103:029,02[A  ]| "The soil is red!"  
103:029,02['  ]| said Jack.
103:029,03[W  ]| "Clay!  That$6#2$ is clay!  No$2$ more sand, except in$4$ patches, all the way to$4$ Albany.
103:029,04[W  ]| This is Guildford where the roses grow."
103:029,05['  ]| They clattered across a narrow wooden bridge with a white railing, and up$5$
103:029,06['  ]| to$4$ a wooden inn where the horses were to$9$ be changed.  Jack got down in$4$ the
103:029,07['  ]| road, and saw Mr*George and Mr*Ellis both sleepily emerge and pass without
103:029,08['  ]| a word into the place marked BAR.
103:029,09[A  ]| "I think I will$1$ walk on$5$ a bit," 
103:029,09['  ]| said Jack, 
103:029,09[A  ]| "if you will$1$ pick me up$5$."
103:029,10['  ]| But at that$6#2$ moment a fleecy white head peering out of the back of the
103:029,11['  ]| coach cried:
103:029,12[V  ]| "Oh, Mr*Gwey!  Mr*Gwey!  They have frowed away a perfeckly good cat."
103:029,13['  ]| The driver went over with Jack to$4$ where the chubby arm was pointing, and
103:029,14['  ]| saw the body of a cat stretched by$4$ the trodden grass.  It was quite dead.  They
103:029,15['  ]| stood looking at it, Grey explaining that$3$ 
103:029,15@w   | it was a good skin and it certainly was
103:029,16@w   | a pity to$9$ waste it, and he hoped someone would find it who$6#1$ would tan it
103:029,17@w   | before it went too far, for$3$ as for$4$ him, he could not take it along in$4$ the coach,
103:029,18@w   | the passengers might object before they reached Albany, though the
103:029,19@w   | weather was cooling up$5$ a bit.
103:029,20['  ]| Jack laughed and went back to$4$ the coach to$9$ throw off his overcoat.  He
103:029,21['  ]| loved the crazy inconsequence of everything. He stepped along the road
103:029,22['  ]| feeling his legs thrilling with new life.  The thrill and exultance of new life.
103:029,23['  ]| And yet somewhere in$4$ his breast and throat tears were heaving.  Why?  Why?
103:029,24['  ]| He did not know.  Only he wanted to$9$ cry till he died.  And at the same time, he
103:029,25['  ]| felt such a strength and a new power of life in$4$ his legs as he strode the
103:029,26['  ]| Australian way, that$3$ he threw back his head in$4$ a sort of exultance.
103:029,27@a   | Let the exultance conquer.  Let the tears go to$4$ blazes.
103:029,28['  ]| When the coach came alongside, there was the old danger-look in$4$ his eyes,
103:029,29['  ]| a defiance, and something of the cat-look of a young lion.  He did not mount,
103:029,30['  ]| but walked on$5$ up$4$ the hill.  They were climbing the steep Darling*Ranges, and
103:029,31['  ]| soon he had a wonderful view.  There was the wonderful clean new country
103:029,32['  ]| spread out below him, so$5#1$ big, so$5#1$ soft, so$5#1$ ancient in$4$ its virginity.  And far
103:029,33['  ]| beyond, the gleam of that$6#2$ strange empty sea.  He saw the grey-green bush
103:029,34['  ]| ribboned with blue rivers, winding to$4$ the unknown sea.  And in$4$ his heart he
103:029,35['  ]| was \determining\ to$9$ get what he wanted.  Even though he did not know what it
103:029,36['  ]| was he wanted.  In$4$ his heart he clinched his determination to$9$ get it.  To$9$ get it
103:029,37['  ]| out of this ancient country's virginity.
103:029,38['  ]| He waited at the top of the hill.  The horses came clop-clopping up$5$.
103:029,39['  ]| Morning was warm and full of sun.  They had rolled up$5$ the flaps of the
103:029,40['  ]| wagonette, and there was the beaming face of Mr*George, and the purple
103:029,41['  ]| face of Mr*Ellis, and the back of the head of the floss-haired child.
103:029,42['  ]| Jack looked back again, when he had climbed to$4$ his seat and the horses
103:029,43['  ]| were breathing, to$4$ where the foot of the grey-bush hills rested in$4$ a valley
103:029,44['  ]| ribboned with rivers and patched with cultivation, all frail and delicate in$4$ a
103:029,45['  ]| dim ethereal light.
103:030,01[C  ]| "A land of promise!  A land of promise," 
103:030,01['  ]| said Mr*George.  
103:030,01[C  ]| "When I was
103:030,02[C  ]| young I bid L1080 for$4$ 2700 acres of it.  But Hammersley bid twenty pounds
103:030,03[C  ]| more, and got it.  Take up$5$ land, Jack*Grant, take up$5$ land.  Buy, beg, borrow or
103:030,04[C  ]| steal land, but get it, sir, get it."
103:030,05[G  ]| "He will$1$ have to$9$ go farther back to$9$ find it," 
103:030,05['  ]| said Mr*Ellis from his blue face.
103:030,06[G  ]| "He will$1$ get none of what he sees there."
103:030,07[C  ]| "Oh, if he means to$9$ stay, he can jump it.  The law is always bendin' and
103:030,08[C  ]| breakin', bendin' and breakin'."
103:030,09[G  ]| "Well, if he is going to$9$ live with me, Mr*George, do not put him on$5$ to$4$
103:030,10[G  ]| land-snatching," 
103:030,10['  ]| said Mr*Ellis.  And the two men fell to$4$ a discussion of Land*Acts,
103:030,11['  ]| Grants, Holdings, Claims, and Jack soon ceased to$9$ listen.  He thought
103:030,12['  ]| the land looked lovely.  But he had no$2$ desire to$9$ own any of it.  He never felt
103:030,13['  ]| the possibility of "owning" land.  
103:030,13@a   | There the land was, for$4$ eternity.  How could
103:030,14@a   | he own it?  Anyhow, it made no$2$ appeal to$4$ him along those lines.
103:030,15['  ]| But Mr*Ellis loved "timber" and broke the spell by$4$ pointing and saying:
103:030,16[G  ]| "See them trees, Jack, my boy?  Jarrah!  Hills run one into the other way to$4$
103:030,17[G  ]| the Blackwood*River.  Hundreds of miles of beautiful Jarrah timber.  The
103:030,18[G  ]| trees like$1$ this barren ironstone formation.  It is well they do, for$3$ nothing else
103:030,19[G  ]| does."
103:030,20[W  ]| "There is one of the mud-brick buildings the convicts lived in$4$, while they
103:030,21[W  ]| were building the road," 
103:030,21['  ]| said the driver, not to$9$ be done out of his say.  
103:030,21[W  ]| "One of
103:030,22[W  ]| the convicts broke and got away.  Mostly when they went off they was driven
103:030,23[W  ]| in$5$ by$4$ the bush.  But this one never.  They say he is wandering yet.  I say, dead."
103:030,24['  ]| Mr*George was explaining the landscape.
103:030,25[C  ]| "Down there, Darlington, Governor*Darling went down and never came
103:030,26[C  ]| back.  Went home the quick way.  Boya, native word for$4$ rock.  Mahogany*Creek
103:030,27[C  ]| just above there.  They will$1$ see us coming.  Kids watch from the rise, run
103:030,28[C  ]| back and holloa.  Pa catches rooster, black girl blows fire, ma mixes paste,
103:030,29[C  ]| yardman peels spuds ~~ dinner when we get there."
103:030,30[W  ]| "And, sir, Sam has a good brew, none better.  Also, sir, though it looks
103:030,31[W  ]| lonesome, he is mostly got company."
103:030,32[C  ]| "How is that$6#2$?"
103:030,33[W  ]| "Well sir, everyone comes for$4$ miles round to$9$ hear his missus play the
103:030,34[W  ]| harmonium.  Got it out from England, and if it does not break your heart to$9$
103:030,35[W  ]| hear it!  The voice of the past!  You would love to$9$ hear it, Mr*Grant, being new
103:030,36[W  ]| from home."
103:030,37[A  ]| "I am sure I should," 
103:030,37['  ]| said Jack, thinking of the concert.
103:030,38['  ]| The dinner at Mahogany*Creek was as Mr*George had said.  Afterwards,
103:030,39['  ]| on$5$ again through the bush.
103:030,40['  ]| Towards the end of the afternoon the coach pulled up$5$ at a little by-road,
103:030,41['  ]| where stood a basket-work shay, and a tall young fellow in$4$ very old clothes
103:030,42['  ]| lounging with loose legs.
103:030,43[W  ]| "Ere you are!"  
103:030,43['  ]| said Grey, and walking the horses to$4$ the side of the road, he
103:030,44['  ]| scrambled down to$9$ pull water from a well.
103:030,45[G  ]| "Here we are!"  
103:030,45['  ]| said Mr*Ellis from the back of the coach, where the tall
103:031,01['  ]| youth was just receiving the floss-haired baby between his big red hands.  Fat
103:031,02['  ]| Mr*Ellis got down.  The youth began pulling out Jack's bags and boxes, and
103:031,03['  ]| Jack hurried round to$9$ help him.
103:031,04[G  ]| "This is Tom," 
103:031,04['  ]| said Mr*Ellis.
103:031,05[H  ]| "Pleased to$9$ meet you," 
103:031,05['  ]| said Tom, holding out a big hand and clasping
103:031,06['  ]| Jack's hand hard for$4$ a moment.  Then they went on$5$ piling the luggage on$4$ the
103:031,07['  ]| wicker shay.
103:031,08[G  ]| "That$6#2$ is the lot!"  
103:031,08['  ]| called Mr*Ellis.
103:031,09[C  ]| "Good-bye, Jack!"  
103:031,09['  ]| said Mr*George, leaning his grey head out of the coach.
103:031,10[C  ]| "Be good and you will$1$ be happy."
103:031,11['  ]| Over which$6#1$ speech Jack puzzled mutely.  But the floss-haired baby girl was
103:031,12['  ]| embracing his trouser legs.
103:031,13[A  ]| "I never knew you were an Ellis," 
103:031,13['  ]| he said to$4$ her.
103:031,14[G  ]| "Ay, she is another of them," 
103:031,14['  ]| said Mr*Ellis.
103:031,15['  ]| The coach was going.  Jack went over awkwardly and offered the driver a
103:031,16['  ]| two-shilling piece.
103:031,17[W  ]| "Put it back in$4$ your pocket, lad, you will$1$ want it more than I shall,"  
103:031,17['  ]| said Grey
103:031,18['  ]| unceremoniously.  
103:031,18[W  ]| "The best of luck to$4$ you, and I mean it."
103:031,19['  ]| They all packed into the shay, Jack sitting with his back to$4$ the horses, the
103:031,20['  ]| little girl tied in$5$ beside him, his smaller luggage bundled where it could be
103:031,21['  ]| stowed; and in$4$ absolute silence they drove through the silence of the standing,
103:031,22['  ]| motionless, gum-trees.  Jack had never felt such silence.  At last they
103:031,23['  ]| pulled up$5$.  Tom jumped down and drew a slip-rail, and they passed a log
103:031,24['  ]| fence, inside which$6#1$ there were many sheep, though it was still bush.  Tom got
103:031,25['  ]| in$5$ again and they drove through bush with occasional sheep.  Then Tom got
103:031,26['  ]| down again ~~ Jack could not see for$4$ what purpose.  The youth fetched an axe
103:031,27['  ]| out of the cart and started chopping.  A tree was across the road:  he was
103:031,28['  ]| chopping at the broken part.  There came a sweet scent.
103:031,29[G  ]| "Raspberry jam!"  
103:031,29['  ]| said Mr*Ellis.  
103:031,29[G  ]| "That$6#2$ is \8acacia*acuminata\, a beautiful wood,
103:031,30[G  ]| good for$4$ fences, posts, pipes, walking-sticks.  And they are burning it off by$4$
103:031,31[G  ]| the million acres."
103:031,32['  ]| Tom pulled the trunk aside, and drove on$5$ again till he came to$4$ another
103:031,33['  ]| gate.  Then they saw ahead a great clearing in$4$ the bush, and in$4$ the midst of
103:031,34['  ]| the clearing a "ginger-bread" house, made of wood slabs, with a shingle roof
103:031,35['  ]| running low all round to$4$ the verandahs.  A woman in$4$ dark homespun cloth
103:031,36['  ]| with an apron and sunbonnet, and a young bearded man in$4$ moleskins and
103:031,37['  ]| blue shirt, came out with a cheery shout.
103:031,38[W  ]| "You get along inside and have some tea," 
103:031,38['  ]| said the young bearded man.
103:031,39[W  ]| "I will$1$ change the horses."
103:031,40['  ]| The woman lifted down the baby, after having untied her.
103:031,41['  ]| There was a door in$4$ the front of the house, a window on$4$ each side.  But
103:031,42['  ]| they all went round under the eaves to$4$ the mud-brick kitchen behind, and
103:031,43['  ]| had tea.  The woman hardly spoke, but she smiled and passed the tea and
103:031,44['  ]| nursed Ellie.  When the young bearded man came in$5$ he smiled and said:
103:031,45[W  ]| "I have got the mail out of the shay, Mr*Ellis."
103:032,01[G  ]| "That$6#2$ is all right," 
103:032,01['  ]| said Mr*Ellis.
103:032,02['  ]| After which$6#1$ no*one spoke again.
103:032,03['  ]| When they set off once more there was a splendid pair of greys on$4$ either
103:032,04['  ]| side the pole.
103:032,05[G  ]| "Bill and Lil," 
103:032,05['  ]| said Mr*Ellis.  
103:032,05[G  ]| "My own breed.  Angus lends us his for$4$ the
103:032,06[G  ]| twenty miles to$4$ the cross roads.  We have just changed them and got our own.
103:032,07[G  ]| There is another twenty miles yet."
103:032,08['  ]| It now began to$9$ rain, and gradually grew dark and cold.  The bush was
103:032,09['  ]| dree, the dreest thing Jack had ever know.  Rugs and mackintoshes were
103:032,10['  ]| fetched out, the baby was fastened snug in$4$ a corner out of the wet, and the
103:032,11['  ]| horses kept up$5$ a steady pace.  And then, as Nature went to$9$ roost, Mr*Ellis
103:032,12['  ]| woke up$5$ and pulled out his pipe, to$9$ begin a conversation.
103:032,13[G  ]| "How is Ma?"
103:032,14[H  ]| "Great!"
103:032,15[G  ]| "How is Gran?"
103:032,16[H  ]| "Same."
103:032,17[G  ]| "All well?"
103:032,18[H  ]| "Yes."
103:032,19@a   | "He has come twenty miles," 
103:032,19['  ]| thought Jack, 
103:032,19@a   | "and he only asks now!"
103:032,20[H  ]| "See the doctor in$4$ town, Dad?"  
103:032,20['  ]| asked Tom.
103:032,21[G  ]| "I did."
103:032,22[H  ]| "What did he say?"
103:032,23[G  ]| "Oh, heart is wrong all right, just what Rackett said.  But might live to$9$ be
103:032,24[G  ]| older than he is.  So$3$ I might too, lad."
103:032,25[H  ]| "So$3$ you will$1$ and all, Dad."
103:032,26['  ]| And then Mr*Ellis, as if desperate to$9$ change the conversation, pulling hard
103:032,27['  ]| at his pipe:
103:032,28[G  ]| "Jersey cow calved?"
103:032,29[H  ]| "Yes."
103:032,30[G  ]| "Bull again?"
103:032,31[H  ]| "No$7$, heifer.  Beauty."
103:032,32['  ]| They both smiled silently.  Then Tom's tongue suddenly was loose.
103:032,33[H  ]| "Little beauty she is.  And the Berkshire has farrowed nine little prize-winners.
103:032,34[H  ]| Cowslip came on$5$ with her butter since she come on$5$ to$4$ the barley.  I
103:032,35[H  ]| cot them twins Og and Magog peltin' the dogs with eggs, and them so$5#1$ scarce, so$3$
103:032,36[H  ]| I wopped them both.  That$6#2$ black spaniel bitch I had to$9$ kill her for$3$ she worried
103:032,37[H  ]| one of the last batch of sucking pigs, though I do not know how she come to$9$ do
103:032,38[H  ]| such a thing.  I have finished fallowin' in$4$ the bottom meadow, and I am glad
103:032,39[H  ]| you are back to$9$ tell us what to$9$ get on$5$ wif."
103:032,40[G  ]| "How is clearing in$4$ the Long*Mile*Paddock?"
103:032,41[H  ]| "Only bin down there once.  Sam is doin' all right."
103:032,42[G  ]| "Hear anything of the Gum*Tree*Gully clearing gang?"
103:032,43[H  ]| "Message from Spencer, and you to$9$ go down some time ~~ as soon as you can."
103:032,44[G  ]| "Well, I want the land reclaimed this year, and I want it gone on$5$ with.  Never
103:032,45[G  ]| know what will$1$ happen, Tom.  I would like$1$ for$4$ you to$9$ go down there, Tom.  You can
103:033,01[G  ]| take the young feller behind here with you, soon as the girls come home."
103:033,02[H  ]| "What is he like$4$?"
103:033,03[G  ]| "Seems a likely enough young chap.  Old George put in$5$ a good word
103:033,04[G  ]| for$4$ them."
103:033,05[H  ]| "Bit of a toff."
103:033,06[G  ]| "Never you mind, so$5#1$ long as his head is not toffy."
103:033,07[H  ]| "Know anything?"
103:033,08[G  ]| "Should not say so$5#2$."
103:033,09[H  ]| "Some fool?"
103:033,10[G  ]| "Do not know.  You find out for$4$ yourself."
103:033,11['  ]| Silence.
103:033,12['  ]| Jack heard it all.  But if he had not heard it, he could easily have imagined it.
103:033,13@a   | "Yes, you find out," 
103:033,13['  ]| he thought to$4$ himself, going dazed with fatigue and
103:033,14['  ]| indifference as he huddled under the blanket, hearing the horses' hoofs
103:033,15['  ]| clop-clop!  and the rain splash on$4$ his shoulders.  Sometimes the horses pulled
103:033,16['  ]| slow and hard in$4$ the dark, sometimes they bowled along.  He could see
103:033,17['  ]| nothing.  Sometimes there was a snort and jangle of harness, and the wheels
103:033,18['  ]| resounding hollow.  
103:033,18@a   | "Bridging something" 
103:033,18['  ]| thought Jack.  And he wondered
103:033,19['  ]| how they found their way in$4$ the utter dark, for$3$ there were no$2$ lamps.  The
103:033,20['  ]| trees dripped heavily.
103:033,21['  ]| And then, at the end of all things, Tom jumped down and opened a gate.
103:033,22@a   | Hope!  But on$5$ and on$5$ and on$5$.  Stop! ~~ hope! ~~ another gate.  On$5$ and on$5$.  Same
103:033,23@a   | again.  And so$5#2$ interminably.
103:033,24['  ]| Till at last some intuition seemed to$9$ communicate to$4$ Jack the presence of
103:033,25['  ]| home.  The rain had stopped, the moon was out.  Ghostly and weird the bush,
103:033,26['  ]| with white trunks spreading like$4$ skeletons.  There opened a clearing, and a
103:033,27['  ]| dog barked.  A horse neighed near at hand.  There were no$2$ trees, a herd of
103:033,28['  ]| animals was moving in$4$ the dusk.  And then a dark house loomed ahead,
103:033,29['  ]| unlighted.  The shay drove on$5$, and round to$4$ the back.  A door opened, a
103:033,30['  ]| woman's figure stood in$4$ the candle-light and firelight.
103:033,31[H  ]| "All right, Ma!"  
103:033,31['  ]| called Tom.
103:033,32[G  ]| "All right, dear," 
103:033,32['  ]| called Mr*Ellis.
103:033,33[V  ]| "All right!"  
103:033,33['  ]| shrilled a little voice ~~
103:033,34@a   | Well, here they were in$4$ the kitchen.  Mrs*Ellis was a brown-haired woman
103:033,35@a   | with a tired look in$4$ her eyes.  
103:033,35['  ]| She looked a long time at Jack, holding his hand
103:033,36['  ]| in$4$ her one hand and feeling his wet coat with the other.
103:033,37[I  ]| "You are wet.  But you can go to$4$ bed when you have had your supper.  I hope
103:033,38[I  ]| you will$1$ be all right.  Tom  will$1$ look after you."
103:033,39['  ]| She was hoping that$3$ he would only bring good with him.  She was all
103:033,40['  ]| mother:  and mother of her own children first.  She felt kindly towards him.
103:033,41['  ]| But he was another woman's son.
103:033,42['  ]| When they had eaten, Tom led the newcomer away out of the house,
103:033,43['  ]| across a little yard, threw open a door in$4$ the dark, and lit a candle stuck in$4$ the
103:033,44['  ]| neck of a bottle.  Jack looked round at the mud floor, the windowless window,
103:033,45['  ]| and unlined wooden walls, the calico ceiling, and he was glad.  He was to$9$ share
103:034,01['  ]| this cubby hole, as they called it, with the other Ellis boys.  His truckle bed was
103:034,02['  ]| fresh and clean.  He was content.  It was not stuffy, it was rough and remote.
103:034,03['  ]| When he opened his portmanteau to$9$ get out his nightshirt he asked Tom
103:034,04['  ]| where he was to$9$ put his clothes.  For$3$ there was no$2$ cupboard or chest of
103:034,05['  ]| drawers or anything.
103:034,06[H  ]| "On$4$ your back or under your bed," 
103:034,06['  ]| said Tom.  
103:034,06[H  ]| "Or I might find you an old
103:034,07[H  ]| packing case, if you are decent.  But say, ol' bloke, lemme give you a hint.  Do not you 
103:034,08[H  ]| get sidey or nosey up$4$ here, puttin' on$5$ jam and suchlike, for$3$ if you do you will$1$ shame
103:034,09[H  ]| me in$4$ front of strangers, and I will$1$ not stand it."
103:034,10[A  ]| "Jam did you say?"
103:034,11[H  ]| "Yes, jam, macaroni, cockadoodle.  We are plain people out here-aways, not
103:034,12[H  ]| mantle ornaments nor dickey-toffs, and we want no$2$ flash sparks round, see?"
103:034,13[A  ]| "\I am\ no$2$ flash spark," 
103:034,13['  ]| said Jack.  
103:034,13[A  ]| "Not enough for$4$ them at home.  It is too
103:034,14[A  ]| much fist and too little toff, that$6#1$ is the matter with me."
103:034,15[H  ]| "Can you use your fists?"
103:034,16[A  ]| "Like$1$ to$9$ try me?"
103:034,17['  ]| Jack shaped up$5$ to$4$ him.
103:034,18[H  ]| "Oh, for$4$ the love of Mike," 
103:034,18['  ]| laughed Tom, 
103:034,18[H  ]| "stow the haw-haw gab!  You will$1$ do
103:034,19[H  ]| me though, I think."
103:034,20[A  ]| "I will$1$ try to$9$ oblige," 
103:034,20['  ]| said Jack, rolling into bed.
103:034,21[H  ]| "Here!" 
103:034,21['  ]| said Tom sharply, 
103:034,21[H  ]| "out you get and say your prayers.  What sortta
103:034,22[H  ]| example for$4$ them kids of ours, gettin' into bed and forgettin' your prayers?"
103:034,23['  ]| Jack eyed the youth.
103:034,24[A  ]| "You say yours?"  
103:034,24['  ]| he asked.
103:034,25[H  ]| "Should say I do.  Gran is on$5$ ter me right cruel if I do not see to$4$ it, \whoever\
103:034,26[H  ]| sleeps in$4$ this cubby.  They has ter say their prayers, see?"
103:034,27[A  ]| "All right!"  
103:034,27['  ]| said Jack laconically.
103:034,28['  ]| And he obediently got up$5$, kneeled on$4$ the mud floor, and gabbled through
103:034,29['  ]| his quota.  Somewhere in$4$ his heart he was touched by$4$ the simple honesty of
103:034,30['  ]| the boy.  And somewhere else he was writhing with slow, contemptuous
103:034,31['  ]| repugnance at the vulgar tyranny.
103:034,32['  ]| But he called again to$4$ his aid that$6#2$ natural indifference of his, grounded on$4$
103:034,33['  ]| contempt.  And also a natural boyish tolerance, because he saw that$3$ Tom had
103:034,34['  ]| a naive, if rather vulgar, good-will.
103:034,35['  ]| He gabbled through his prayers wearily, but scrupulously, to$4$ the last
103:034,36['  ]| Amen.  Then rolled again into bed to$9$ sleep till morning, and forget, forget,
103:034,37['  ]| forget!  He depended on$4$ his power of absolute forgetting.
104:035,01['  ]| Two things struggled in$4$ Jack's mind when he awoke in$4$ the morning.
104:035,02['  ]| The first was the brave idea that$3$ he had left everything behind, that$3$ he
104:035,03['  ]| had done with his boyhood and was going to$9$ enter into his own.  The second
104:035,04['  ]| was a noise of somebody quoting Latin and clicking wooden dumb-bells.
104:035,05['  ]| Jack opened his eyes.  There were four beds in$4$ the cubby hole.  Between
104:035,06['  ]| two beds stood a thin boy of about thirteen, swinging dumb-bells, and facing
104:035,07['  ]| two small urchins who$6#1$ were faithfully imitating him, except that$3$ they did not
104:035,08['  ]| repeat the Latin tags.  They were all dressed in$4$ short breeches loosely held up$5$
104:035,09['  ]| by$4$ braces, and under-vests.
104:035,10[W  ]| \7Veni\, 
104:035,10['  ]| up$5$ went their arms smartly ~~ 
104:035,10[W  ]| \7vidi\, 
104:035,10['  ]| down came the clubs to$4$
104:035,11['  ]| horizontal ~~ 
104:035,11[W  ]| \7vici\, 
104:035,11['  ]| the clubs were down by$4$ their sides.
104:035,12['  ]| Jack smiled to$4$ himself and dozed again.  It was scarcely dawn.  He was dimly
104:035,13['  ]| aware of the rain pattering on$4$ the shingle roof.
104:035,14[H  ]| "Are not ye gettin' up$5$ this morning?"
104:035,15['  ]| It was Tom standing contemplating him.  The children had run out
104:035,16['  ]| barefoot and bare-armed in$4$ the rain.
104:035,17[A  ]| "Is it morning?"  
104:035,17['  ]| asked Jack stretching.
104:035,18[H  ]| "Not half.  We have fed the 'osses.  Come on$5$."
104:035,19[A  ]| "Where do I wash?"
104:035,20[H  ]| "At the pump.  Look slippy and get your clothes on$5$.  Our men live over at
104:035,21[H  ]| Red's, we have to$9$ look sharp in$4$ the morning."
104:035,22['  ]| Jack looked slippy, and went out to$9$ wash in$4$ the tin dish by$4$ the pump.  The
104:035,23['  ]| rain was abating, but it seemed a damp performance.
104:035,24['  ]| By$4$ the time he was really awake, the day had come clear.  It was a fine
104:035,25['  ]| morning, the air fresh with the smell of flowering shrubs:  silver wattle,
104:035,26['  ]| spirea, daphne and syringa which$6#1$ Ellis grew in$4$ his garden.  Already the sun
104:035,27['  ]| was coming warm.
104:035,28['  ]| The house was a low stone building with a few trees round it.  But all the life
104:035,29['  ]| went on$5$ here at the back, here where the pump was, and the various yards
104:035,30['  ]| and wooden out-buildings.  There was a vista of open clearing, and a few
104:035,31['  ]| huge gum-trees.  The sky was already blue, a certain mist lay below the great
104:035,32['  ]| isolated trees.
104:035,33['  ]| In$4$ the yard a score of motherless lambs were penned, bleating, their silly
104:035,34['  ]| faces looking up$5$ at Jack confidently, expecting the milk bottle.  He walked
104:035,35['  ]| with his hands in$4$ the pockets of his old English tweeds, feeling over-dressed
104:035,36['  ]| and a bit out of place.  Cows were tethered to$4$ posts or standing loose about
104:035,37['  ]| the fenced yard, and the half-caste Tim, and Lennie, the dumb-bell boy, and
104:036,01['  ]| a girl, were silently milking.  The heavy, pure silence of the Australian
104:036,02['  ]| morning.
104:036,03['  ]| Jack stood at a little distance.  A cat whisked across the yard and ran up$4$ a
104:036,04['  ]| queer-looking pine-tree, a dissipated old cow moved about at random.
104:036,05[H  ]| "Hey, you!"  
104:036,05['  ]| shouted Tom impatiently, 
104:036,05[H  ]| "Take hoult of that$6#2$ cart 'oss nosin'
104:036,06[H  ]| his way inter the chaff-house, and bring him here.  And see to$4$ that$6#2$ grey's
104:036,07[H  ]| ropes:  she is chewin' them free.  Look slippy, make yourself useful."
104:036,08['  ]| There was a tone of amiability and intimacy mixed with this bossy shouting.
104:036,09['  ]| Jack ran to$4$ the cart 'oss.  He could not help liking Tom and the rest.  They
104:036,10['  ]| were so$5#1$ queer and naive, and they seemed oddly forlorn, like$4$ waifs lost in$4$ this
104:036,11['  ]| new country.  Jack had always had a leaning towards waifs and lost people.
104:036,12['  ]| They were the only people whose bossing he did not mind.
104:036,13['  ]| The children at their various tasks were singing in$4$ shrill, clear voices, with
104:036,14['  ]| a sort of street-arab abandon.  Lennie, the boy, would break the shrilling of
104:036,15['  ]| the twin urchins with a sudden musical yell, from the side of the cow he was
104:036,16['  ]| milking.  And they seemed to$9$ sing anything, songs, poetry, nonsense, anything
104:036,17['  ]| that$6#1$ came into their heads, like$4$ birds singing variously and at random.
104:036,18[Z  ]| "The blue, the fresh, the ever free
104:036,19[Z  ]| I am where I would ever be
104:036,20[Z  ]| With the blue above, and the blue below ~~ "
104:036,21['  ]| Then a yell from Lennie by$4$ the cows:
104:036,22[Z  ]| "And wherever thus in$4$ childhood \s'our\"
104:036,23['  ]| The twins:
104:036,24[Z  ]| "I never was on$4$ the dull tame shore
104:036,25[Z  ]| But I loved the great sea more and more"
104:036,26['  ]| Again a sudden and commanding yell from Lennie:
104:036,27[Z  ]| "I never loved a dear gazelle
104:036,28[Z  ]| To$9$ glad me with its soft black eye,
104:036,29[Z  ]| But, when it came to$9$ know me well
104:036,30[Z  ]| And love me ~~ "
104:036,31['  ]| Here the twins, as if hypnotised, howled out:
104:036,32[Z  ]| "It was sure to$9$ die."
104:036,33['  ]| They kept up$5$ this ragged yelling in$4$ the new soft morning, like$4$ lost wild
104:036,34['  ]| things.  Jack laughed to$4$ himself.  
104:036,34@a   | But they were quite serious.  The elders were
104:036,35@a   | dumb-silent.  Only the youngsters made all this noise.  Was it a sort of protest
104:036,36@a   | against the great silence of the country?  Was it their young, lost effort in$4$ the
104:036,37@a   | noiseless antipodes, whose noiselessness seems like$4$ a doom at last?  They
104:036,38@a   | yelled away like$4$ wild little lost things, with an uncanny abandon.  
104:036,38['  ]| It pleased
104:036,39['  ]| Jack.
104:036,40['  ]| They had all gone silent again, and collected under the peppermint tree at
104:036,41['  ]| the back door, where Ma ladled out tea into mugs for$4$ everybody.  Ma was Mrs*Ellis.
104:037,01['  ]| She still had the tired, distant look in$4$ her eyes, and a tired bearing, and
104:037,02['  ]| she seemed to$9$ take no$2$ notice of anybody, either when she was in$4$ the kitchen
104:037,03['  ]| or when she came out with pie to$4$ the group squatting under the tree.  When
104:037,04['  ]| anyone said:  
104:037,04[X  ]| "Some more tea, Ma!"  
104:037,04['  ]| she silently ladled out the brew.  Jack was
104:037,05['  ]| not a very intent observer.  But he was struck by$4$ Mrs*Ellis' silence and her
104:037,06['  ]| "drawn" look.
104:037,07['  ]| Tom came and hitched himself up$5$ against the trunk of the tree.  Lennie
104:037,08['  ]| was sitting opposite on$4$ a log, holding his tin mug and eyeing the stranger in$4$
104:037,09['  ]| silence.  On$4$ another log sat the two urchins, sturdy, wild little brats,
104:037,10['  ]| barefooted, bare-legged, bare-armed, as Jack had first seen them, their dress
104:037,11['  ]| still consisting of a little pair of pants and a cotton undervest, and a pair of
104:037,12['  ]| braces.  The last seemed by$4$ far the most important garment.  Lennie was
104:037,13['  ]| clothed, or unclothed, the same, while Tom had added a pair of boots.  The
104:037,14['  ]| bare arms out of the cotton vests were brown and smooth, and they gave the
104:037,15['  ]| boys and the youth a curiously naked look.  A girl of about twelve, in$4$ a
104:037,16['  ]| dark-blue spotted pinafore and a rag of red hair-ribbon, sat on$4$ a little stump
104:037,17['  ]| near the twins.  She was silent like$4$ her mother ~~ but not yet "drawn".
104:037,18[H  ]| "What do he think of Og and Magog?"  
104:037,18['  ]| said Tom, pointing with his mug at the
104:037,19['  ]| twins.  
104:037,19[H  ]| "Called for$4$ giants cos they are so$5#1$ small."
104:037,20['  ]| Jack did not know what to$9$ think.  He tried to$9$ smile benevolently.
104:037,21[H  ]| "And that$6#2$ is Katie," 
104:037,21['  ]| continued Tom, indicating the girl, who$6#1$ at once looked
104:037,22['  ]| foolish.  
104:037,22[H  ]| "She is younger than Lennie, but she is pretty near his size.  He is another
104:037,23[H  ]| little 'un.  Little and cheeky, that$6#2$ is what he is.  Too much cheek for$4$ his
104:037,24[H  ]| age ~~ which$6#1$ is fourteen.  You will$1$ have to$9$ keep him in$4$ his place, I tell you
104:037,25[H  ]| straight."
104:037,26[J  ]| "Ef \ye ken\!"  
104:037,26['  ]| murmured Len with a sour face.
104:037,27['  ]| Then, chirping up$5$ with a real street-arab pertness, he seemed to$9$ ignore
104:037,28['  ]| Jack as he asked brightly of Tom:
104:037,29[J  ]| "And who$6#2$ is my Lord Duke of Early Risin', if I might be told?  For$3$ before
104:037,30[J  ]| Gosh he sports a tidy raiment."
104:037,31[H  ]| "Now, Len, none of yer lingo!"  
104:037,31['  ]| warned Tom.
104:037,32[J  ]| "Who$6#2$ is he, anyway, as you should go tellin' him to$9$ keep me in$4$ my place?"
104:037,33[A  ]| "No$2$ offence intended, I am sure," 
104:037,33['  ]| said Jack pleasantly.
104:037,34[J  ]| "\Taken\ though!"  
104:037,34['  ]| said Lennie, with such a black look that$3$ Jack's colour rose
104:037,35['  ]| in$4$ spite of himself.
104:037,36[A  ]| "Keep a civil tongue in$4$ your head, or I will$1$ punch it for$4$ you," 
104:037,36['  ]| he said.  He and
104:037,37['  ]| Lennie stared each other in$4$ the eye.
104:037,38['  ]| Lennie had a beautiful little face, with an odd pathos like$4$ some lovely girl,
104:037,39['  ]| and grey eyes that$6#1$ could change to$4$ black.  Jack felt a certain pang of love for$4$
104:037,40['  ]| him, and in$4$ the same instant remembered that$6#2$ she-lioness cub of a Monica.
104:037,41@a   | Perhaps she too had the same odd, lovely pathos, like$4$ a young animal that$6#1$
104:037,42@a   | runs alert and alone in$4$ the wood.  Why did these children seem so$5#1$ motherless
104:037,43@a   | and fatherless, so$5#1$ much on$4$ their own?  
104:037,43['  ]| It was very much how Jack felt
104:037,44['  ]| himself.  Yet he was not pathetic.
104:037,45['  ]| Lennie suddenly smiled whimsically, and Jack knew 
104:037,45@a   | he was let into the
104:038,01@a   | boy's heart.  Queer!  Up$5$ till now they had all kept a door shut against him.
104:038,02@a   | Now Len had opened the door.  
104:038,02['  ]| Jack saw the winsomeness and pathos of the
104:038,03['  ]| boy vividly, and loved him, too.  
104:038,03@a   | But it was still remote.  And still mixed up$5$ in$4$ it
104:038,04@a   | was the long stare of that$6#2$ Monica.
104:038,05[H  ]| "That$6#2$ is right, you tell him," 
104:038,05['  ]| said Tom.  
104:038,05[H  ]| "What I say here, goes ~~ no$2$ back
104:038,06[H  ]| chat, and no$2$ tales told.  That$6#2$ is what is the motto on$4$ this station."
104:038,07[Z  ]| "Obey and please my Lord*Tom*Noddy,
104:038,08[Z  ]| So$3$ God shall love and angels aid ye ~~ "
104:038,09['  ]| said Lennie, standing tip-toe on$4$ his log and balancing his bare feet, and
104:038,10['  ]| repeating his rhyme with an abstract impudence, as if the fiends of air could
104:038,11['  ]| hear him.
104:038,12[H  ]| "Aw, shut up$5$, you!"  
104:038,12['  ]| said Tom.  
104:038,12[H  ]| "you have got ter get them 'osses down to$4$
104:038,13[H  ]| Red's.  Take Jack and show him."
104:038,14[J  ]| "I will$1$ show him," 
104:038,14['  ]| said Len, munching a large piece of pie as he set off.
104:038,15[J  ]| "Ken ye ride, Jack?"
104:038,16['  ]| Jack did not answer, because his riding did not amount to$4$ much.
104:038,17['  ]| Len unhitched four heavy horses, led them into the yard, and put the ropes
104:038,18['  ]| into Jack's hands.  The child marched so$5#1$ confidently under the noses of the
104:038,19['  ]| great creatures, as they planted their shaggy feet.  And he was such a midget,
104:038,20['  ]| and with his brown bare arms and bare legs and feet, and his vivid face, he
104:038,21['  ]| looked so$5#1$ "tender."  Jack's heart moved with tenderness.
104:038,22[A  ]| "Do not you ever wear boots?"  
104:038,22['  ]| he asked.
104:038,23[J  ]| "Not if I can help it.  Them kids now, they will$1$ not neither, and I do not blame
104:038,24[J  ]| them.  Last boots Ma sent for$4$ was found all over the manure heap, so$3$ the old
104:038,25[J  ]| man said he would buy no$2$ more boots and a good job too.  The only thing as scares
104:038,26[J  ]| me is double-gees:  spikes all roads and Satan's face on$4$ three sides.  Ever see
104:038,27[J  ]| double-gees?"
104:038,28['  ]| Len was leading three ponderous horses.  He started peering on$4$ the road,
104:038,29['  ]| the horses marching just behind his quick little figure.  Then he found a burr
104:038,30['  ]| with three queer sides and a sort of face on$4$ each side, with sticking-out hair.
104:038,31['  ]| He was a funny kid, with his scraps of Latin and tags of poetry.  Jack
104:038,32['  ]| wondered that$3$ he was not self-conscious and ashamed to$9$ quote poetry.  But he
104:038,33['  ]| was not.  He chirped them off, the bits of verse, as if they were a natural form
104:038,34['  ]| of expression.
104:038,35['  ]| They had led the horses to$4$ another stable.  Len again gave the ropes to$4$
104:038,36['  ]| Jack, disappeared, and returned leading a saddled stock-horse.  Holding the
104:038,37['  ]| reins of the saddle-horse, the boy scrambled up$4$ the neck of one of the big
104:038,38['  ]| draft horses like$4$ a monkey.
104:038,39[J  ]| "Which$6#2$ are you goin' to$9$ ride?"  
104:038,39['  ]| he asked Jack from the height.  
104:038,39[J  ]| "I am taking
104:038,40[J  ]| three and leading Lucy.  You take the other three."
104:038,41['  ]| So$3$ he received the three halter ropes.
104:039,01[A  ]| "I think I will$1$ walk," 
104:039,01['  ]| said Jack.
104:039,02[J  ]| "Please yourself.  You can open the gates easy walkin', and comin' back I will$1$ do
104:039,03[J  ]| it, and you can ride Lucy and I will$1$ ride behind pinion so$3$ as I can slip down easy."
104:039,04@a   | Yes, Lennie was a joy.  
104:039,04['  ]| On$4$ the return journey, when Jack was in$4$ the saddle
104:039,05['  ]| riding Lucy, Len flew up$5$ behind him and stood on$4$ the horses' crupper, his
104:039,06['  ]| hands on$4$ Jack's shoulders, crying:  
104:039,06[J  ]| "Let her go!"  
104:039,06['  ]| At the first gate he slid down
104:039,07['  ]| like$4$ a drop of water, then up$5$ again, this time sitting back to$4$ back with Jack,
104:039,08['  ]| facing the horse's tail, and whistling briskly.
104:039,09['  ]| Suddenly he stopped whistling, and said:
104:039,10[J  ]| "You have seen everybody but Gran and Doc%*Rackett, have not you?  He teaches
104:039,11[J  ]| me ~~ a rum sortta dock he is, too, never there when he is wanted.  But he is a
104:039,12[J  ]| real doctor all right:  signs death certificates and no$2$ questions asked.  You could do
104:039,13[J  ]| a murder, and if you was on$4$ the right side of him, you would never be hung.  He would say
104:039,14[J  ]| the corpse died of natural causes."
104:039,15[A  ]| "I did not know a corpse died," 
104:039,15['  ]| said Jack laughing.
104:039,16[J  ]| "Did not yer?  Well, yer know now!  Gran is as good as a corpse, and she do not
104:039,17[J  ]| want ter die.  She put on$5$ Granfer's grave:  ""Left desolate, but not without
104:039,18[J  ]| hope.""  So$3$ they all thought she would get married again.  But she never.  Did you go to$4$
104:039,19[J  ]| one of them English schools?"
104:039,20[A  ]| "Yes."
104:039,21[J  ]| "Ever wear a bell-topper?"
104:039,22[A  ]| "Once or twice."
104:039,23[J  ]| "Gosh!  May I never go to$4$ school, God help me.  I should die of shame and
104:039,24[J  ]| disgrace.  Arrayed like$4$ a little black pea in$4$ a pod, learnin' to$9$ be useless.  Look
104:039,25[J  ]| at Rackett.  School, and Cambridge, and comes inter money.  Wastes it.  Wastes
104:039,26[J  ]| his life.  Now he is teachin' me, and the' only useful thing he ever did."
104:039,27['  ]| After a pause, Jack ventured.
104:039,28[A  ]| "Who$6#2$ is Doctor*Rackett?"
104:039,29[J  ]| "A waster.  Down and out waster.  He has got a sin.  I do not know what it is, but
104:039,30[J  ]| it is wastin' his soul away"
104:039,31['  ]| It was no$2$ use Jack's trying to$9$ thread it all together.  It was a bewilderment, so$3$
104:039,32['  ]| he let it remain so$5#2$.  It seemed to$4$ him, that$3$ 
104:039,32@a   | right at the very core of all of them
104:039,33@a   | was the same bewildered vagueness:  Mr*Ellis, Mrs*Ellis, Tom, the men ~~ they
104:039,34@a   | all had that$6#2$ empty bewildered vagueness at the middle of them.  Perhaps
104:039,35@a   | Lennie was most on$4$ the spot.  The others just could attend to$4$ their jobs, no$2$
104:039,36@a   | more.
104:039,37['  ]| Jack still had no$2$ acquaintance with anyone but Tom and Len.  He never got
104:039,38['  ]| an answer from Og and Magog.  They just grinned and wriggled.  Then there
104:039,39['  ]| was Katie.  Then Harry, a fat, blue-eyed small boy.  And then that$6#2$ floss-haired
104:039,40['  ]| Ellie who$6#1$ had come from Perth.  And smaller than her, the baby.  All very
104:039,41['  ]| confusing.
104:040,01['  ]| The second morning, when they were at the proper breakfast, Dad suddenly
104:040,02['  ]| said:
104:040,03[G  ]| "Ma!  Do ye know where the new narcissus bulbs are gone?  I was waiting to$9$
104:040,04[G  ]| plant them till I got back."
104:040,05[I  ]| "I have not seen them since ye put them in$4$ the shed at the end of the
104:040,06[I  ]| verandah, dear."
104:040,07['  ]| Dead silence.
104:040,08[W  ]| "Is them like$4$ onions?"  
104:040,08['  ]| asked Og, pricking up$5$ intelligently.
104:040,09[G  ]| "Yes.  They are!  Have you seen them?"  
104:040,09['  ]| asked Dad sternly.
104:040,10[W  ]| "I see baby eatin' them, Dad," 
104:040,10['  ]| replied Og calmly.
104:040,11[G  ]| "What!  My bulbs as I got out from England!  Why, what the dickens, Ma,
104:040,12[G  ]| do you let that$6#2$ mischievous monkey loose for$4$?  My precious narcissus bulbs,
104:040,13[G  ]| the first I have ever had.  And, besides, Ma!  I am not sure but what they are
104:040,14[G  ]| poison."
104:040,15['  ]| The parents looked at one another, then at the gay baby.  There is a
104:040,16['  ]| general consternation.  Ma gets the long, evil, blue bottle of castor oil and
104:040,17['  ]| forcibly administers a spoonful to$4$ the screaming baby.  Dad hurries away,
104:040,18['  ]| unable to$9$ look on$4$ the torture of the baby ~~ the last of his name.  He goes to$9$
104:040,19['  ]| hunt for$4$ the bulbs in$4$ the verandah shed.  Tom says, 
104:040,19[H  ]| "By$4$ gosh!"  
104:040,19['  ]| and sits
104:040,20['  ]| stupefied.  Katie jumps up$5$ and smacks Og for$4$ telling tales, and Magog flies at
104:040,21['  ]| Katie for$4$ touching Og.  Jack, as a visitor, unused to$4$ family life, is a little
104:040,22['  ]| puzzled .
104:040,23['  ]| Lennie meanwhile calmly continues to$9$ eat his large mutton chop.  The
104:040,24['  ]| floss-haired Ellie toddles off talking to$4$ herself.  She comes back just as intent,
104:040,25['  ]| wriggles on$4$ her chair on$4$ her stomach, manages to$9$ mount, and put her two
104:040,26['  ]| fists on$4$ the table, clutching various nibbled, onion-like roots.
104:040,27[V  ]| "Vem is vem, are not they, Dad?  She never ate them.  She got them out vis
104:040,28[V  ]| mornin', and was suckin' them, so$3$ I took them from her and hid them for$4$ you."
104:040,29[J  ]| "Should Dad have said narcissi or narcissuses?"  
104:040,29['  ]| asked Len from over his
104:040,30['  ]| coffee mug, in$4$ the hollow voice of one who$6#1$ speaks out of his cups.
104:040,31['  ]| Nobody answered.  The baby was shining with castor oil.  Jack sat in$4$ a kind
104:040,32['  ]| of stupefaction.  Everybody ate mutton chops in$4$ noisy silence, oppressively,
104:040,33['  ]| and chewed huge door-steps of bread.
104:040,34['  ]| Then there entered a melancholy, well-dressed young fellow who$6#1$ looked
104:040,35['  ]| like$4$ a daguerreotype of a melancholy young gentleman.  He sauntered in$5$ in$4$
104:040,36['  ]| silence, and pulling out his chair, sat down at table without a word.  Katie ran
104:040,37['  ]| to$9$ bring his breakfast, which$6#1$ was on$4$ a plate on$4$ the hearth, keeping warm.
104:040,38['  ]| Then she sat down again.  The meal was even more oppressive.  Everybody
104:040,39['  ]| was eating quickly, to$9$ get away.
104:040,40['  ]| And then Gran opened the door leading from the parlour, and stood
104:040,41['  ]| there like$4$ the portrait of an old, old lady, stood there immovable, just looking
104:040,42['  ]| on$5$, like$4$ some ghost.  Jack's blood ran cold.  The boys, pushing back their
104:040,43['  ]| empty plates, went quietly out to$4$ the verandah, to$4$ the air.  Jack followed,
104:040,44['  ]| clutching his cap, that$6#1$ he had held all the time on$4$ his knee.
104:040,45['  ]| Len was pulling off his shirt.  The boys had to$9$ wear shirts at meal times.
104:041,01['  ]| This was the wild new country!  Jack's sense of bewilderment deepened.
104:041,02['  ]| Also he felt a sort of passionate love for$4$ the family ~~ as a savage must feel for$4$
104:041,03['  ]| his tribe.  He felt he would never leave the family.  He must always be near
104:041,04['  ]| them, always in$4$ close physical contact with them.  And yet he was just a trifle
104:041,05['  ]| horrified by$4$ it all.
105:042,00[U  ]| <The Lambs Come Home>
105:042,00[U  ]| <i>
105:042,01['  ]| A month later Tom and Lennie went off with the greys, Bill and Lil, to$9$
105:042,02['  ]| fetch the girls.  It had been wet, so$3$ Jack had spent most of his day in$4$ the
105:042,03['  ]| sheds mending corn sacks.  He was dressed now in$4$ thick cotton trousers,
105:042,04['  ]| coloured shirt, and grey woollen socks, and copper-toed boots.  When he
105:042,05['  ]| went ploughing, by$4$ Tom's advice, he wore "lasting" socks ~~ none.
105:042,06['  ]| His tweed coat hung on$4$ a nail on$4$ the wall of the cubby, his good trousers
105:042,07['  ]| and vest were under the mattress of his bed.  The only useful garment he had
105:042,08['  ]| brought had been the old riding breeches of the Agricultural*College days.
105:042,09['  ]| On$4$ the back of his Tom-clipped hair was an ant-heap of an old felt hat, and
105:042,10['  ]| so$3$ he sat, hour after hour, sewing the sacks with a big needle.  He was
105:042,11['  ]| certainly not unhappy.  He had a sort of passion for$4$ the family.  The family
105:042,12['  ]| was almost his vice.  He felt he \must\ be there with the family, and then nothing
105:042,13['  ]| else mattered.  Dad and Ma were the silent, unobtrusive pillars of the house.
105:042,14['  ]| Tom was the important young person.  Lennie was the soul of the place.  Og
105:042,15['  ]| and Magog were the mischievous life.  Then there was Harry, whom Jack
105:042,16['  ]| did not like$1$, and the little girls, to$9$ be looked after.  Dr%*Rackett hovered round
105:042,17['  ]| like$4$ an uneasy ghost, and Gran was there in$4$ her room.  Now the girls were
105:042,18['  ]| coming home.
105:042,19['  ]| Jack felt he had sunk into the family, merged his individuality and he
105:042,20['  ]| would never get out.  His own father and mother, England, or the future,
105:042,21['  ]| meant nothing to$4$ him.  He loved this family.  He loved Tom, and Lennie, and
105:042,22['  ]| he wanted always to$9$ be with all of them.  This was how it had taken him:  as a
105:042,23['  ]| real passion.
105:042,24['  ]| He loved, too, the ugly stone house, especially the south side, the shady
105:042,25['  ]| side, which$6#1$ was the back where the peppermint tree stood.  If you entered the
105:042,26['  ]| front door ~~ which$6#1$ nobody did ~~ you were in$4$ a tiny passage from which$6#1$
105:042,27['  ]| opened the parlour on$4$ one side, and the dying*room on$4$ the other.  Tom
105:042,28['  ]| called it the dying*room because it had never been used for$4$ any other
105:042,29['  ]| purpose, by$4$ the family.  Old Mr*Ellis had been carried down there to$9$ die.  So$3$
105:042,30['  ]| had his brother Willie.  As Tom explained:  
105:042,30[H  ]| "The staircase is too narrow to$9$
105:042,31[H  ]| handle a coffin."
105:042,32['  ]| Through the passage you dropped a step into the living*room.  On$4$ the
105:042,33['  ]| right from this you stepped up$4$ a step into the kitchen, and on$4$ the left, up$4$ a
105:042,34['  ]| step into Gran's room.  Gran's room had once been the whole house:  the rest
105:042,35['  ]| had been added on$5$.  It is often so$5#2$ in$4$ Australia.
105:042,36['  ]| From the sitting*room you went straight on$5$ to$4$ the back verandah, and
105:042,37['  ]| there were the four trees, and a fenced-in garden, and the yards.  The garden
105:043,01['  ]| had gay flowers, because Mr*Ellis loved them, and a round, stone-walled
105:043,02['  ]| well.  Alongside was the yard, marked off by$4$ the four trees into a square:  a
105:043,03['  ]| mulberry one side the kitchen door, a pepper the other, a photosphorum
105:043,04['  ]| with a seat under it a little way off, and across, a Norfolk pine and half a fir
105:043,05['  ]| tree.
105:043,06['  ]| Tom would talk to$4$ Jack about the family:  
105:043,06@y   | a terrible tangle, 
105:043,06['  ]| they both
105:043,07['  ]| thought.  Why there was Gran, endless years old!  Dad was fifty, and he and
105:043,08['  ]| Uncle*Easu (dead) were her twins and her only sons.  However, she had seven
105:043,09['  ]| daughters and, it seemed to$4$ Jack, hundreds of grand-children, most of them
105:043,10['  ]| grown up$5$ with more children of their own.
105:043,11[A  ]| "I could never remember all their names," 
105:043,11['  ]| he declared.
105:043,12[H  ]| "I do not try," 
105:043,12['  ]| said Tom.  
105:043,12[H  ]| "Neither does Gran.  And I do not believe she cares a
105:043,13[H  ]| tuppeny for$4$ them ~~ for$4$ any of them, except Dad and us."
105:043,14['  ]| Gran was a delicate old lady, with a lace cap, and white curly hair, and an
105:043,15['  ]| ivory face.  She made a great impression on$4$ Jack, as if she were the presiding
105:043,16['  ]| deity of the family.  Over her head as she sat by$4$ the sitting-room fire an old
105:043,17['  ]| clock tick-tocked.  That$6#2$ impressed Jack, too.  There was something weird in$4$
105:043,18['  ]| her age, her pallor, her white hair and white cap, her remoteness.  She was
105:043,19['  ]| very important in$4$ the house, but mostly invisible.
105:043,20['  ]| Lennie, Katie, Og and Magog, Harry, Ellie with the floss-hair, and the
105:043,21['  ]| baby:  these counted as "the children."  Tom, who$6#1$ had had another mother,
105:043,22['  ]| not Ma, was different.  And now the other twins, Monica and Grace, were
105:043,23['  ]| coming.  These were the lambs.  Jack, as he sat mending the sacks, passionately
105:043,24['  ]| in$4$ love with the family and happy doing any sort of work there, thought
105:043,25['  ]| of himself as a wolf in$4$ sheep's clothing, and laughed.
105:043,26['  ]| He wondered why he did not like$1$ Harry.  Harry was six, rather fat and
105:043,27['  ]| handsome, and strong as a baby bull.  But he was always tormenting baby.  Or
105:043,28['  ]| was it baby tormenting Harry?
105:043,29['  ]| Harry got a picture book, and was finding out letters.  Baby crawled over
105:043,30['  ]| and fell on$4$ the book.  Harry snatched it away.  Baby began to$9$ scream.  Ma
105:043,31['  ]| interfered.
105:043,32[I  ]| "Let baby have it, dear."
105:043,33[l  ]| "She will$1$ tear it, Ma."
105:043,34[I  ]| "Let her, dear.  I will$1$ get you another."
105:043,35[l  ]| "When?"
105:043,36[I  ]| "Some day, Harry.  When I go to$4$ Perth."
105:043,37[l  ]| "Ya!  Some day!  Will$1$ you get it Monday?"
105:043,38[I  ]| "Oh, Harry, do be quiet, do ~~ "
105:043,39['  ]| Then Baby and Harry tore the book between them in$4$ their shrieking
105:043,40['  ]| struggles, while Harry battered the cover on$4$ the baby's head.  And a hot,
105:043,41['  ]| dangerous, bullying look would come into his eyes, the look of a bully.  Jack
105:043,42['  ]| knew that$6#2$ look already.  He would know it better before he had done with
105:043,43['  ]| Australia.
105:043,44['  ]| And yet Baby adored Harry.  He was her one god.
105:043,45['  ]| Jack always marvelled over that$6#2$ baby.  To$4$ him 
105:043,45@a   | it was a little monster.  It had
105:044,01@a   | not lived twelve months, yet God alone knew the things it knew.  The ecstasy
105:044,02@a   | with which$6#1$ it smacked its red lips and showed its toothless gums over sweet,
105:044,03@a   | sloppy food.  The diabolic screams if it was thwarted.  The way it spat out
105:044,04@a   | "lumps" from the porridge.  How on$4$ earth at that$6#2$ age, had it come to$9$ have
105:044,05@a   | such a mortal hatred for$4$ lumps in$4$ porridge?  The way its nose had to$9$ be held
105:044,06@a   | when it was given castor oil!  And, again, though it protested so$5#1$ violently
105:044,07@a   | against lumps in$4$ porridge, how it loved such abominations as plaster, earth,
105:044,08@a   | or the scrapings of the pig's bucket.
105:044,09@a   | When you found it cramming dirt into its mouth, and scolded it, it would
105:044,10@a   | hold up$5$ its hands wistfully to$9$ have them cleaned.  And it did not mind a bit,
105:044,11@a   | then, if you swabbed its mouth out with a lump of rag.
105:044,12@a   | It was a girl.  It loved having a new clean frock on$5$.  Would sit gurgling and
105:044,13@a   | patting its stomach, in$4$ a new smart frock, so$5#1$ pleased with itself.  Astounding!
105:044,14@a   | It loved bulls and stallions and great pigs, running between their legs.  And
105:044,15@a   | yet it yelled in$4$ unholy terror if fowls or dogs came near.  Went into convulsions
105:044,16@a   | over the friendly old dog, or a quiet hen pecking near its feet.
105:044,17@a   | It was always trying to$9$ scuttle into the stable, where the horses stood.  And it
105:044,18@a   | had an imbecile desire to$9$ put its hand in$4$ the fire.  And it adored that$6#2$
105:044,19@a   | blue-eyed bully of a Harry, and did not care a straw for$4$ the mother that$6#1$ slaved
105:044,20@a   | for$4$ it.  Harry, who$6#1$ treated it with scorn and hate, pinching it, cuffing it,
105:044,21@a   | shoving it out of its favourite position ~~ off the grass patch, off the hearth-rug,
105:044,22@a   | off the sofa-end.  But it knew exactly the moment to$9$ retaliate, to$9$ claw
105:044,23@a   | his cap from his head and clutch his fair curls, or to$9$ sweep his bread and jam
105:044,24@a   | on$5$ to$4$ the floor, into the dust, if possible ~~
105:044,25['  ]| To$9$ Jack it was all just incredible.
105:044,00[U  ]| <ii>
105:044,26['  ]| But it was part of the family, and so$3$ he loved it.
105:044,27['  ]| He dearly loved the cheeky Len.
105:044,28[J  ]| "What do you want to$9$ say ""feece"" for$4$?  Why can not your say ""fyce"" like$4$ any other
105:044,29[J  ]| bloke?  And why do you wash your fyce before you wash your hands?"
105:044,30[A  ]| "I like$1$ the water clean for$4$ my face."
105:044,31[J  ]| "What about your dirty hands, smarmin' them over it?"
105:044,32[A  ]| "You use a flannel or a sponge."
105:044,33[J  ]| "If you have got one!  You do not find them growin' in$4$ the bush.  Why can not you learn offa
105:044,34[J  ]| me now, and be proper.  You will$1$ be such an awful sukey when you goes out campin',
105:044,35[J  ]| you will$1$ shame yourself.  You should wash your hands first.  Frow away the water if you are not
105:044,36[J  ]| short, but you will$1$ be.  Then when You have got your hands all soapy, sop your fyce up$5$ and
105:044,37[J  ]| down, not around and round like$3$ a cat does.  Then pop your nut under the pump
105:044,38[J  ]| and wring it dry.  Do not never waste your huckaback on$4$ it.  You will$1$ want that$6#2$ for$4$
105:044,39[J  ]| something else."
105:044,40[A  ]| "What else shall I want my towel for$4$?"
105:044,41[J  ]| "Wroppin' up$5$ things in$5$, meat and damper, and to$9$ lay down for$4$ your meal, against
105:045,01[J  ]| the ants, or to$9$ put it against the insex."
105:045,02['  ]| Then from Tom:
105:045,03[H  ]| "Hey, nipper knowall, dry up$5$!  I have taught you the way you should behave,
105:045,04[H  ]| have not I?  Well, I can teach Jack*Grant, without any help from you.  Skedaddle!"
105:045,05[H  ]| 
105:045,06[J  ]| "Hope you can!  Sorry for$4$ you, havin' to$9$ try," 
105:045,06['  ]| said Len as he skedaddled.
105:045,07['  ]| Tom was the head of the clan, and others gave him leal obedience and a
105:045,08['  ]| genuine, if impudent homage.
105:045,09[A  ]| "What a funny kid!"  
105:045,09['  ]| said Jack.  
105:045,09[A  ]| "He is different from the rest of you, and his
105:045,10[A  ]| lingo is rotten."
105:045,11[H  ]| "He is not dif!"  
105:045,11['  ]| said Tom.  
105:045,11[H  ]| "'Xactly same.  Same as all of us ~~ same as all the
105:045,12[H  ]| nips round here.  He went to$4$ same school as Monica and Grace and me, to$4$
105:045,13[H  ]| Aunt's school in$4$ the settlement, till Dr%*Rackett came.  If he is any different, he
105:045,14[H  ]| got it from \him\:  he is English."
105:045,15['  ]| Jack noticed they always spoke of Dr%*Rackett as if he were a species of
105:045,16['  ]| rattlesnake that$6#1$ they kept tame about the place.
105:045,17[H  ]| "But Ma got Dad to$9$ get the Doc, cos she can not bear to$9$ part with Len even for$4$
105:045,18[H  ]| a day ~~ to$9$ give him lessons at home.  I suppose he is her eldest son ~~ Dock
105:045,19[H  ]| need not, he is well-to-do.  But he likes it, when he is here.  When he is not,
105:045,20[H  ]| Lennie slopes off and reads what he pleases.  But it makes no$2$ difference to$4$
105:045,21[H  ]| Len, he is real clever.  And" ~~ 
105:045,21['  ]| Tom added grinning ~~ 
105:045,21[H  ]| "he would not speak like$3$
105:045,22[H  ]| you do neither, not for$4$ all the tin in$4$ a cow's bucket."
105:045,23['  ]| To$4$ Jack, fresh from an English public school, Len was amazing.  
105:045,23@a   | If he hurt
105:045,24@a   | himself sharply, he sat and cried for$4$ a minute or two.  Tears came straight
105:045,25@a   | out, as if smitten from a rock.  If he read a piece of sorrowful poetry, he just
105:045,26@a   | sat and cried, wiping his eyes on$4$ his arm without heeding anybody.  He was
105:045,27@a   | greedy, and when he wanted to$9$, he ate enormously, in$4$ front of grown up$5$
105:045,28@a   | people.  And yet you never minded.  He talked poetry, or raggy bits of Latin,
105:045,29@a   | with great sententiousness and in$4$ the most awful accent, and without a
105:045,30@a   | qualm.  Everything he did was right in$4$ his own eyes.  Perfectly right in$4$ his own
105:045,31@a   | eyes.
105:045,32@a   | His mother was fascinated by$4$ him.
105:045,33@a   | Three things he did well:  he rode, bare-back, standing up$5$, lying down,
105:045,34@a   | anyhow.  He rode like$4$ a circus rider.  Also he boasted ~~ heavens high.  And
105:045,35@a   | thirdly, he could laugh.  There was something so$5#1$ sudden, so$5#1$ blithe, so$5#1$ impish,
105:045,36@a   | so$5#1$ daring, and so$5#1$ wistful in$4$ his lit-up face when he laughed, that$3$ your heart
105:045,37@a   | melted in$4$ you like$4$ a drop of water.
105:045,38['  ]| Jack loved him passionately:  as one of the family.
105:045,39['  ]| And yet even to$4$ Lennie, Tom was the hero.  Tom, the slow Tom, the rather
105:045,40['  ]| stupid Tom.  To$4$ Lennie Tom's very stupidity was manly.  Tom was so$5#1$ dependable,
105:045,41['  ]| so$5#1$ manly, such a capable director.  He never gave trouble to$4$
105:045,42['  ]| anyone, he was so$5#1$ complacent and self-reliant.  Lennie was the love-child, the
105:045,43['  ]| elf.  But Tom was the good, ordinary Man, and therefore the hero.
105:045,44['  ]| Jack also loved Tom.  But he did not accept his manliness so$5#1$ absolutely.
105:045,45['  ]| And it hurt him a little, that$3$ the strange, sensitive Len should put himself so$5#1$
105:046,01['  ]| absolutely in$4$ obedience and second place to$4$ the good plain fellow.  But it was
105:046,02['  ]| so$5#2$.  Tom was the chief.  Even to$4$ Jack.
105:046,00[U  ]| <iii>
105:046,03['  ]| When Tom was away Jack felt as if 
105:046,03@a   | the pivot of all activity was missing.  Mr*Ellis
105:046,04@a   | was not the real pivot.  It was the plain red-faced Tom.
105:046,05['  ]| Tom had talked a good deal, in$4$ snatches, to$4$ Jack.  It was the family that$6#1$
105:046,06['  ]| bothered him, as usual.  He always talked the family.
105:046,07[H  ]| "My grandfather came out here in$4$ the early days.  He was a merchant and
105:046,08[H  ]| lost all his money in$4$ some East*India business.  He married Gran in$4$ Melbourne,
105:046,09[H  ]| then they came out here.  They had a bit of a struggle, but they made
105:046,10[H  ]| good.  Then Granpa died without leaving a will$0$:  which$6#1$ complicated things
105:046,11[H  ]| for$4$ Gran.  Dad and Easu was twins, but Dad was the oldest.  But Dad had
105:046,12[H  ]| wandered:  he was gone for$4$ years, and no*one knows what he did all the time.
105:046,13[H  ]| But Gran liked him best, and he was the oldest son, so$3$ she had this place
105:046,14[H  ]| fixed up$5$ for$4$ him when he came back.  She had a deal of trouble getting the Reds
105:046,15[H  ]| out.  All the A'nts were on$4$ their side ~~ on$4$ the Reds' side.  We always call Uncle*Easu's
105:046,16[H  ]| family the Reds.  And Aunt*Emmie says 
105:046,16@v   | she is sure Uncle*Easu was
105:046,17@v   | born first, and not Dad.  And that$3$ Gran took a fancy to$4$ Dad from the first, so$3$
105:046,18@v   | she said he was the eldest.  
105:046,18[H  ]| Anyhow, it is neither here nor there.  I hope to$4$
105:046,19[H  ]| goodness I never get twins.  It runs in$4$ the family, and of all the awful things!
105:046,20[H  ]| Though the Easus' have got no$2$ twins.  Seven sons and no$2$ girls, and no$2$ twins.
105:046,21[H  ]| Uncle*Easu is dead, so$3$ young Red runs their place.
105:046,22[H  ]| Uncle*Easu was a nasty scrub, anyway.  He married the servant girl, and 
105:046,22@x   | a
105:046,23@x   | servant girl no$2$ better than she should be, 
105:046,23[H  ]| they say.
105:046,24[H  ]| He did not make no$2$ will$0$, either.  Making no$2$ wills runs in$4$ the family, as well
105:046,25[H  ]| as twins.  Dad will$1$ not.  His Dad would not, and he will$1$ not neither."
105:046,26@a   | Which$6#1$ meant, 
105:046,26['  ]| Jack knew, 
105:046,26@a   | that$3$ by$4$ the law of the colony, the property would
105:046,27@a   | come to$4$ Tom.
105:046,28[H  ]| "Oh, Gran is crafty all right!  She never got herself talked about, turning the
105:046,29[H  ]| Reds out!  She saved up$5$ a stocking ~~ Gran always has a stocking.   And she
105:046,30[H  ]| saved up$5$ and bought them out.  She persuaded them that$3$ the land beyond this
105:046,31[H  ]| was better'n this.  She worked in$5$ with them while Dad was away, like$4$ the fingers
105:046,32[H  ]| on$4$ your hand:  and bought that$6#2$ old barn of a place over yonder for$4$ them, and
105:046,33[H  ]| bounced them into it.  Gran is crafty, when it is anyone she cares about.  Now it is
105:046,34[H  ]| Len.
105:046,35[H  ]| Anyhow, there it was when Dad came back, ""Wandoo"" all ready for$4$ him.
105:046,36[H  ]| He brought me wrapped in$4$ a blanket.  Old Tim, our half-caste man, was his
105:046,37[H  ]| servant, and there was my old nurse.  That$6#2$ is all there is we know about me.  I
105:046,38[H  ]| know no$2$ more, neither who$6#1$ I am nor where I sprung from.  And Dad never
105:046,39[H  ]| lets on$5$.
105:046,40[H  ]| He came back with a bit of money, and Gran made him marry Ma to$9$ mind
105:046,41[H  ]| me.  She said 
105:046,41@m   | I was such a squalling little grub, and she wanted me brought up$5$
105:047,01@m   | decent.  
105:047,01[H  ]| So$3$ Ma did it.  But Gran never quite fancied me.
105:047,02[H  ]| It is a funny thing, seeing how I come, that$3$ I should be so$5#1$ steady and
105:047,03[H  ]| ordinary, and Len should be so$5#1$ clever and unsteady.  You would have thought I
105:047,04[H  ]| should be Len and him me.
105:047,05[H  ]| Who$6#2$ was my mother?  That$6#2$ is what I want to$9$ know.  Who$6#2$ was she?  And Dad
105:047,06[H  ]| will$1$ not never say.
105:047,07[H  ]| Anyhow, she was not black, so$3$ what does it matter, anyhow?
105:047,08[H  ]| But it \does\ matter!"  
105:047,08['  ]| Tom brought his fist down with a smack in$4$ the palm of
105:047,09['  ]| his other hand.  
105:047,09[H  ]| "Nobody is ordinary to$4$ their mother, and I am ordinary to$4$
105:047,10[H  ]| everybody, and I wish I was not."
105:047,11@a   | Funny of Tom.  Everybody depended on$4$ him so$5#2$, he was the hero of the
105:047,12@a   | establishment, because he \was\ so$5#1$ steady and ordinary and dependable.  And
105:047,13@a   | now even he was wishing himself different.  You  never knew how folks would
105:047,14@a   | take themselves.
105:047,00[U  ]| <iv>
105:047,15['  ]| As for$4$ the Reds, Jack had been over to$4$ their place once or twice.  They were a
105:047,16['  ]| rough crowd of men and youths, father and mother both dead.  A bachelor
105:047,17['  ]| establishment.  When there was any extra work to$9$ be done, the Wandoos
105:047,18['  ]| went over there to$9$ help.  And the Reds came over to$4$ Wandoo the same.  In$4$
105:047,19['  ]| fact they came more often to$4$ Wandoo than the Ellises went to$4$ them.
105:047,20['  ]| Jack felt the Reds did not like$1$ him.  So$3$ he did not care for$4$ them.  Red*Ellis, the
105:047,21['  ]| eldest son, was about thirty years old, a tall, sinewy, red-faced man with
105:047,22['  ]| reddish hair and reddish beard, and staring blue eyes.  One morning when
105:047,23['  ]| Tom and Mr*Ellis were out mustering and tallying, Jack was sent over to$4$ the
105:047,24['  ]| Red house.  This was during Jack's first fortnight at Wandoo.
105:047,25['  ]| Red the eldest met him in$4$ the yard.
105:047,26[N  ]| "Where is your hoss?"
105:047,27[A  ]| "I have not one.  Mr*Ellis said you would lend me one."
105:047,28[N  ]| "Can you ride?"
105:047,29[A  ]| "More or less."
105:047,30[N  ]| "What do you want wearin' that$6#2$ Hyde*Park costume out here for$4$?"
105:047,31[A  ]| "I have nothing else to$9$ ride in$4$," 
105:047,31['  ]| said Jack, who$6#1$ was in$4$ his old riding breeches.
105:047,32[N  ]| "Can not you ride in$4$ trousers?"
105:047,33[A  ]| "Can not keep them over my knees, yet."
105:047,34[N  ]| "Better learn then, smart and lively.  Keep them down, and your socks up$5$.  Come
105:047,35[N  ]| on$5$ then, blast you, and I will$1$ see about a horse."
105:047,36['  ]| They went to$4$ the stockyard, an immense place.  But it was an empty desert
105:047,37['  ]| now, save for$4$ a couple of black boys holding a wild-looking bay.  Red called
105:047,38['  ]| out to$4$ them:
105:047,39[N  ]| "Caught Stampede, have you?  Well, let him go again afore you break your necks.
105:047,40[N  ]| You are not to$9$ ride him, do you hear.  What is in$4$ the stables, Ned?"
105:047,41[W  ]| "Your mare, master.  Waiting for$4$ you."
105:048,01[N  ]| "What you got besides, you grinning Jackasses.  Find something for$4$ Mr*Grant
105:048,02[N  ]| here, and look slippy."
105:048,03[W  ]| "Oh, master, no$2$ horse in$5$, no$2$ knowin' stranger come."
105:048,04['  ]| Red turned to$4$ Jack.  Easu was a coarse, swivel-eyed, loose-jointed tall
105:048,05['  ]| fellow.
105:048,06[N  ]| "You hear that$6#2$.  The only thing left in$4$ this yard is Stampede.  You k'n take him
105:048,07[N  ]| or leave him, if you are frightened of him.  I am goin' tallyin' sheep, and goin' now.
105:048,08[N  ]| If you stop around idlin' all day, you need not tell Uncle it was my fault."
105:048,09['  ]| Jack hesitated.  From a colonial point of view he could not ride well, and he
105:048,10['  ]| knew it.  Yet he hated Easu's insulting way.  Easu went grinning to$4$ the stable to$9$
105:048,11['  ]| fetch his mare, pleased with himself.  He did not want the young Jackeroo
105:048,12['  ]| planted on$4$ \him\, to$9$ teach any blankey thing to$9$.
105:048,13['  ]| Jack went slowly over to$4$ the quivering Stampede, and asked the blacks if
105:048,14['  ]| they had ever ridden him.  One answered:
105:048,15[W  ]| "Me only fella ride them some time master not to-morrow.  Me and Ned catch
105:048,16[W  ]| him in$4$ mob longa time.  Try to$9$ break him ~~ no$2$ good.  He come back paddock
105:048,17[W  ]| one day.  Ned wanta break him.  No$2$ good.  Master tell him let him go now."
105:048,18['  ]| Red Easu came walking out of the stable chewing a stalk.
105:048,19[A  ]| "Put the saddle on$4$ him," 
105:048,19['  ]| said Jack to$4$ the blacks.  
105:048,19[A  ]| "I will$1$ try."
105:048,20['  ]| The boys grinned and scuffled around.   They rather liked the job.  By$4$
105:048,21['  ]| being very quick and light, Jack got into the saddle, and gripped.  The boys
105:048,22['  ]| stood back, the horse stood up$5$, and then whirled around on$4$ his hind legs,
105:048,23['  ]| and round and down.  Then up$5$ and away like$4$ a squib round the yard.  The
105:048,24['  ]| boys scattered, so$3$ did Easu, but Jack, because it was natural for$4$ his legs to$9$ grip
105:048,25['  ]| and stick, stuck on$5$.  His bones rattled, his hat flew off, his heart beat high.  But
105:048,26['  ]| unless the horse came down backwards on$4$ top of him, he could stay on$5$.  And
105:048,27['  ]| he was not really afraid.  He thought:  
105:048,27@a   | "If he does not go down backwards on$4$
105:048,28@a   | top of me, I shall be all right."  
105:048,28['  ]| And to$4$ the boys he called:  
105:048,28[A  ]| "Open the gate."
105:048,29['  ]| Meanwhile he tried to$9$ quiet the horse.  
105:048,29[A  ]| "Steady now, steady!"  
105:048,29['  ]| he said, in$4$ a low,
105:048,30['  ]| intimate voice.  
105:048,30[A  ]| "Steady, boy!"  
105:048,30['  ]| And all the time he held on$5$ with his thighs and
105:048,31['  ]| knees, like$4$ iron.
105:048,32['  ]| He did not believe in$4$ the innate viciousness of the horse.  He never believed
105:048,33['  ]| in$4$ the innate viciousness of anything, except a man.  And he did not want to$9$
105:048,34['  ]| fight the horse for$4$ simple mastery.  He wanted just to$9$ hold it hard with his
105:048,35['  ]| legs until it soothed down a little, and he and it could come to$4$ an understanding.
105:048,36['  ]| But he must never relax the hold of his hard legs, or he was dead.
105:048,37['  ]| Stampede was not ready for$4$ the gate.  He sprang fiercely at it as if it had
105:048,38['  ]| been guarded by$4$ fire.  Once in$4$ the open, he ran, and bucked, and bucked,
105:048,39['  ]| and ran, and kicked, and bucked, and ran.  Jack stuck on$5$ with the lower half
105:048,40['  ]| of his body, like$4$ a vice, feeling as if his head would be jerked off from his
105:048,41['  ]| shoulders.   It was becoming hard work.  But he knew, unless he stuck on$5$, he
105:048,42['  ]| was a dead man.
105:048,43['  ]| Then he was aware that$3$ Stampede was bolting, and Easu was coming along
105:048,44['  ]| on$4$ a grey mare.
105:048,45['  ]| Now they reached the gate, and a miracle happened.  Stampede stood
105:049,01['  ]| still while Red came up$5$ and opened the gate.  Jack was conscious of a body of
105:049,02['  ]| live muscle and palpitating fire between his legs, of a furious head tossing
105:049,03['  ]| hair like$4$ hot wire, and bits of white foam.  Also he was aware of the trembling
105:049,04['  ]| of his own thighs, and the sensual exertion of gripping that$6#2$ hot wild body in$4$
105:049,05['  ]| the power of his own legs.  Gripping the hot horse in$4$ a grip of sensual mastery
105:049,06['  ]| that$6#1$ made him tremble with a curious quivering.  Yet he dared not relax.
105:049,07[N  ]| "Go!"  
105:049,07['  ]| said Red.  And away they went.  Stampede bolted like$4$ the wind, and
105:049,08['  ]| Jack held on$5$ with his knees and by$4$ balance.  He was thrilled, really;
105:049,09['  ]| frightened externally, but internally keyed up$5$.  And never for$4$ a moment did
105:049,10['  ]| he relax his mind's attention, nor the attention of his own tossed body.  The
105:049,11['  ]| worst was the corkscrew buck, when he nearly went over the brute's head.
105:049,12['  ]| And the moments of vindictive hate, when he would kill the beast and be
105:049,13['  ]| killed a thousand times rather than be beaten.  Up$5$ he went, off the saddle,
105:049,14['  ]| and down he came again, with a shattering jerk, down on$4$ the front of the
105:049,15['  ]| saddle.  The balance he kept was a mystery even to$4$ himself, his body was so$5#1$
105:049,16['  ]| flung about by$4$ the volcano of furious life beneath him.  He felt himself
105:049,17['  ]| shaken to$4$ pieces, his bones rattled all out of socket.  But they got there, out to$4$
105:049,18['  ]| the sheep paddock where a group of Reds and black boys stood staring in$4$
105:049,19['  ]| silence.
105:049,20['  ]| Jack jumped off, though his knees were weak and his hands trembling.
105:049,21['  ]| The horse stood dark with sweat.  Quickly he unbuckled the saddle and
105:049,22['  ]| bridle and pulled them off, and gave the horse a clap on$4$ its wet neck.  Away it
105:049,23['  ]| went, wild again, and free.
105:049,24['  ]| Jack glanced at the Reds, and then at Easu.  Red Easu met his eyes, and the
105:049,25['  ]| two stared at one another.  It was the defiance of the hostile colonial, brutal
105:049,26['  ]| and retrogressive, against the old mastery of the old country.  Jack was barely
105:049,27['  ]| conscious.  Yet he was not afraid, inside himself, of the swivel-eyed brute of a
105:049,28['  ]| fellow.  He knew that$3$ Easu was not a better man than himself, though he was
105:049,29['  ]| bigger, older, and on$4$ his own ground.  But Jack had the pride of his own, old,
105:049,30['  ]| well-bred country behind him, and he would never go back on$4$ his breeding.
105:049,31['  ]| He was not going to$9$ yield his manliness before the colonial way of life:  the
105:049,32['  ]| brutishness, the commonness.  Inwardly he would not give in$5$ to$4$ it.  But the
105:049,33['  ]| best of it, the colonial honesty and simplicity, that$6#1$ he loved.
105:049,34['  ]| There are two sides to$4$ colonials, as to$4$ everything.  One side he loved.  The
105:049,35['  ]| other he refused and defied.
105:049,36['  ]| These decisions are not mental, but they are critical in$4$ the soul of a boy of
105:049,37['  ]| eighteen.  And the destiny of nations hangs on$4$ such silent, almost unconscious,
105:049,38['  ]| decisions.
105:049,39['  ]| Easu ~~ they called him Easu, but the name was Esau ~~ turned to$4$ a black,
105:049,40['  ]| and bellowed:
105:049,41[N  ]| "Give master your horse, and carry that$6#2$ bally saddle home."
105:049,42['  ]| Then silently they all turned to$4$ the sheep-tallying.
105:049,43['  ]| Jack was still sewing sacks.  It was afternoon.  He listened for$4$ the sound of the
105:049,44['  ]| shay, though he did not expect it until nightfall at least.
105:049,45['  ]| His ear, training to$4$ the Australian alertness, began to$9$ detect unusual
105:050,01['  ]| sounds.  Or perhaps it was not his ear.  The old bushman seems to$9$ have
105:050,02['  ]| developed a further faculty, a psychic faculty of "sensing" some unusual
105:050,03['  ]| disturbance in$4$ the atmosphere, and reading it.  Jack was a very new Australian.
105:050,04['  ]| Yet he had become aware of this faculty in$4$ Tom, and he wanted it for$4$
105:050,05['  ]| himself.  He wanted to$9$ be able to$9$ hear the inaudible, like$4$ a sort of clair-audience.
105:050,06['  ]|
105:050,07['  ]| All he could hear was the audible:  and all he could see was the visible.  The
105:050,08['  ]| children were playing in$4$ the yard:  he could see in$4$ the dust.  Mrs*Ellis
105:050,09['  ]| was still at the wash-tub:  he saw the steam.  Katie was upstairs:  he had seen
105:050,10['  ]| her catching a hornet in$4$ the window.  The men were out ploughing, the
105:050,11['  ]| horses were away.  The pigs were walking round grunting, the cows and
105:050,12['  ]| poultry were all in$4$ the paddock.  Gran never made a sound, unless she
105:050,13['  ]| suddenly appeared on$4$ the scene like$4$ the Lord in$4$ Judgment.  And Dr%*Rackett
105:050,14['  ]| was always quiet:  often uncannily so$5#2$.
105:050,15['  ]| It was still rainy season, but a warm, mellow, sleepy afternoon, with no$2$ real
105:050,16['  ]| sound at all.  He got up$5$ and stood on$4$ the threshold to$9$ stretch himself.  And
105:050,17['  ]| there, coming by$4$ the grain-shed, he saw a little cortege in$4$ which$6#1$ the first
105:050,18['  ]| individual he distinguished was Red Easu.
105:050,19[N  ]| "Go in$5$," 
105:050,19['  ]| shouted Red, 
105:050,19[N  ]| "and tell A'nt as Herbert has had an accident, and
105:050,20[N  ]| we are bringin' him in$5$."
105:050,21@a   | Sure enough, they were carrying a man on$4$ a gate.
105:050,22['  ]| Mrs*Ellis clicked:
105:050,23[I  ]| "Tt-tt-tt-tt-tt!  They run to$4$ us when they are in$4$ trouble."  
105:050,23['  ]| But she went at
105:050,24['  ]| once to$4$ the linen closet, and on$5$ into the living-room.
105:050,25['  ]| Gran was sitting in$4$ a corner by$4$ a  little fire.
105:050,26[M  ]| "Who$6#2$ is hurt?"  
105:050,26['  ]| she inquired testily.  
105:050,26[M  ]| "Not one of the family, I hope and
105:050,27[M  ]| pray."
105:050,28[I  ]| "Jack says it is Red Herbert," 
105:050,28['  ]| replied Mrs*Ellis.
105:050,29[M  ]| "Put him in$4$ the cubby with the boys, then."
105:050,30['  ]| But Mrs*Ellis thought of her beloved boys, and hesitated.
105:050,31[I  ]| "Do you think it is much, Jack?"  
105:050,31['  ]| she asked.
105:050,32[A  ]| "They are carrying him on$4$ a gate," 
105:050,32['  ]| said Jack.  
105:050,32[A  ]| "It looks bad."
105:050,33[M  ]| "Dear o' me!"  
105:050,33['  ]| snapped Gran, in$4$ her brittle fashion.  
105:050,33[M  ]| "Why could not you say
105:050,34[M  ]| so$5#2$.  Well, then, if you do not want to$9$ put him in$4$ the cubby, there is a bed in$4$ my
105:050,35[M  ]| room.  Put him there.  But I should have thought he could have had Tom's
105:050,36[M  ]| bed, and Tom could have slept here on$4$ the sofa."
105:050,37@a   | "Poor Tom," 
105:050,37['  ]| thought Jack.
105:050,38[M  ]| "Do not" ~~ 
105:050,38['  ]| Gran banged her stick on$4$ the floor ~~ 
105:050,38[M  ]| "stand there like$4$ a pair of
105:050,39[M  ]| sawneys!  Get to$4$ work!  Get to$4$ work!"
105:050,40['  ]| Jack was staring at the ground and twirling his hat.  Gran hobbled forward.
105:050,41['  ]| He noticed to$4$ his surprise that$3$ she had a wooden leg.  And she stamped it at
105:050,42['  ]| him.
105:050,43[M  ]| "Go and fetch that$6#2$ rascal of a doctor," 
105:050,43['  ]| she cried, in$4$ a startling loud voice.
105:050,44['  ]| Jack went.  Dr%*Rackett was not in$4$ his room, for$3$ Jack hallooed and knocked
105:050,45['  ]| at every door.  He peeped into the rooms, whose doors were slightly opened.
105:051,01@a   | This must be the girls' room ~~ two beds, neat white quilts, blue bow at the
105:051,02@a   | window.  When would they be home?  Here was the family bed, with two cots
105:051,03@a   | in$4$ the room as well.  He came to$4$ a shut door.  This must be it.  
105:051,03['  ]| He knocked and
105:051,04['  ]| halloed again.  
105:051,04@a   | No$2$ sound.  
105:051,04['  ]| Jack felt as if he were bound to$9$ come upon$4$ a
105:051,05['  ]| Bluebeard's chamber.  He hated looking in$4$ these bedrooms.
105:051,06['  ]| He knocked again, and opened the door.  
105:051,06@a   | A queer smell, like$4$ chemicals.  A
105:051,07@a   | dark room, with the  blind down:  a few books, a feeling of dark dreariness.
105:051,08@a   | But no$2$ doctor.  "So$3$ that$6#2$ is that$6#2$!"  
105:051,08['  ]| thought Jack.
105:051,09['  ]| In$4$ spite of himself his boots clattered going down, and made him nervous.
105:051,10@a   | Why did the inside of the house, where he never went, seem so$5#1$ secret, and
105:051,11@a   | rather horrible?  He peeped into the dismal little drawing-room.  Not there, of
105:051,12@a   | course!  Opposite was the dying*room, the door wide open.  Nobody ever was
105:051,13@a   | there.
105:051,14@a   | Rackett was not in$4$ the house, that$6#2$ was certain.  
105:051,14['  ]| Jack slunk out, went to$4$ the
105:051,15['  ]| paddock, caught Lucy, the saddle-horse, saddled her and cantered aimlessly
105:051,16['  ]| round, within hearing of the homestead.  The afternoon was passing.  Not a
105:051,17['  ]| soul was in$4$ sight.  The gum-trees hung their sharp leaves like$4$ obvious ghosts,
105:051,18['  ]| with the hateful motionlessness of gum-trees.  And though flowers were out,
105:051,19['  ]| they were queer, scentless, unspeaking sort of flowers, even the red ones that$6#1$
105:051,20['  ]| were ragged like$4$ fire.  Nothing spoke.  The distances were clear and mellow
105:051,21['  ]| and beautiful, but soulless, and nobody alive in$4$ the world.  The silent, lonely
105:051,22['  ]| gruesomeness of Australia gave Jack the blues.
105:051,23@a   | It surely was milking time.  
105:051,23['  ]| Jack returned quietly to$4$ the yard.  
105:051,23@a   | Still nobody
105:051,24@a   | alive in$4$ the world.  As if everyone had died.  Yes, there was the half-caste Tim
105:051,25@a   | in$4$ the distance, bringing up$5$ the slow, unwilling cows, slowly, like$4$ slow
105:051,26@a   | dreams.
105:051,27@a   | And there was Dad coming out of the back room, in$4$ his shirt-sleeves:  bluer
105:051,28@a   | and puffier than ever, with his usual serene expression, and his look of boss,
105:051,29@a   | which$6#1$ came from his waistcoat and watchchain.  Dad always wore his
105:051,30@a   | waistcoat and watchchain, and seemed almost over-dressed in$4$ it.
105:051,31@a   | Came Og and Magog running with little steps, and Len slinking
105:051,32@a   | round the doorspost, and Harry marching alone, and Katie dragging her
105:051,33@a   | feet, and baby crawling.  
105:051,33['  ]| Jack was glad to$9$ see them.  They had all been indoors
105:051,34['  ]| to$9$ look at the accident.  And it had been a dull, dead, empty afternoon, with
105:051,35['  ]| all the life emptied out of it.  Even now the family, the beloved family, seemed
105:051,36['  ]| a trifle gruesome to$4$ Jack.
105:051,37['  ]| He helped to$9$ milk:  a job he was not good at.  Dad even took a stool and
105:051,38['  ]| milked also.  As usual, Dad did nothing but supervise.  It was a good thing to$9$
105:051,39['  ]| have a real large family, that$6#1$ made supervising worth while.  So$3$ Tom said,
105:051,40[H  ]| "It is a good thing to$9$ have nine children, you can clear some work with them, if
105:051,41[H  ]| you are their dad."  
105:051,41['  ]| That$6#2$ is why Jack was by$4$ no$2$ means one too many.  Dad
105:051,42['  ]| supervised him too.
105:051,43['  ]| They got the milking done somehow.  Jack changed his boots, washed
105:051,44['  ]| himself, and put on$5$ his coat.  He nearly trod on$4$ the baby as he walked across
105:051,45['  ]| to$4$ the kitchen in$4$ the dying light.  He lifted her and carried her in$5$.
105:052,01['  ]| Usually "tea" ~~ which$6#1$ meant mutton chops and eggs and steaks as well ~~
105:052,02['  ]| was ready when they came in$5$ from milking.  To-day Mr*Ellis was putting
105:052,03['  ]| eucalyptus sticks under the kettle, making the eternally familiar scent of the
105:052,04['  ]| kitchen, and Mrs*Ellis was setting the table there.  Usually they lived in$4$ the
105:052,05['  ]| living-room from breakfast on$5$.  But to-day tea was to$9$ be in$4$ the kitchen, with a
105:052,06['  ]| silence and a cloud in$4$ the air like$4$ a funeral.  But there was plenty of noise
105:052,07['  ]| coming from Gran's room.
105:052,08['  ]| Jack had to$9$ have baby beside him for$4$ the meal.  And she put sticky hand in$4$
105:052,09['  ]| his hair and leaned over and chewed and sputtered crumbs, wet crumbs, in$4$
105:052,10['  ]| his ear.  Then she tried to$9$ wriggle down, but the evening was chill and her
105:052,11['  ]| hands and feet were cold and Mrs*Ellis said to$9$ 
105:052,11@i   | keep her up$5$.  
105:052,11['  ]| Jack felt 
105:052,11@a   | he
105:052,12@a   | could not stand it any longer, when suddenly she fell asleep, the most unexpected
105:052,13@a   | thing in$4$ the world, and Mrs*Ellis carried off her and Harry to$4$ bed.
105:052,14@a   | Ah, the family!  the family!  
105:052,14['  ]| Jack still loved it.  It seemed to$9$ fill the whole of
105:052,15['  ]| life for$4$ him.  He did not want to$9$ be alone, save at moments.  And yet, on$4$ an
105:052,16['  ]| afternoon like$4$ to-day, he somehow realised that$3$ 
105:052,16@a   | even the family would not last
105:052,17@a   | for*ever.  What then?  What then?
105:052,18['  ]| He could not bear the thought of getting married to$4$ \one\ woman and coming
105:052,19['  ]| home to$4$ a house with only himself and this one woman in$4$ it.  Then the slow
105:052,20['  ]| and lonely process of babies coming.  The thought of such a future was
105:052,21['  ]| dreadful to$4$ him.  
105:052,21@a   | He did not want it.  He did not want his own children.  He
105:052,22['  ]| wanted this family:  always this family.  And yet there was something gruesome
105:052,23['  ]| to$4$ him about the empty bedrooms and the uncanny privacies even of
105:052,24['  ]| this family.  He did not want to$9$ think of their privacies.
105:052,00[U  ]| <vi>
105:052,25['  ]| Three of the Reds trooped out through the sitting-room, lean, red-faced,
105:052,26['  ]| hairy, heavy-footed, uncouth figures, for$4$ their tea.  The Wandoon Ellises were
105:052,27['  ]| aristocratic in$4$ comparison.  They asked Jack to$9$ go and help hold Herbert
105:052,28['  ]| down, because he was fractious.  
105:052,28[X  ]| "He is that$6#2$ fractious!"
105:052,29['  ]| Jack did not in$4$ the least want to$9$ have to$9$ handle any of the Reds, but he had
105:052,30['  ]| to$9$ go.  He found himself taking the two steps down into the dark living-room,
105:052,31['  ]| and two steps up$5$ into Gran's room beyond.
105:052,32@a   | Why need the family be so$5#1$ quiet in$4$ the kitchen, when there was such a
105:052,33@a   | hubbub in$4$ here?  
105:052,33['  ]| Alan*Ellis was holding one leg of the injured party, and Ross*Ellis
105:052,34['  ]| the other, and they both addressed the recumbent figure as if it were an
105:052,35['  ]| injured horse, with a 
105:052,35@x   | \Whoa there!  Steady on$5$, now!  Stead, boy, steady!\ 
105:052,35['  ]| Whilst
105:052,36['  ]| Easu, bending terribly over the prostrate figure, clutched both its arms in$4$ a
105:052,37['  ]| vice, and cursed Jack for$4$ not coming sooner to$9$ take one arm.
105:052,38['  ]| Herbert had hurt his head, and turned fractious.  Jack took the one arm.
105:052,39['  ]| Easu was on$4$ the other side of the bed, his reddish fair beard glowing.  There
105:052,40['  ]| was queer power in$4$ Easu, which$6#1$ fascinated Jack a little.  Beyond, Gran was
105:052,41['  ]| sitting up$5$ in$4$ bed, among many white pillows, like$4$ Red*Riding*Hood's grandmother.
105:053,01['  ]| A bright fire of wood logs was burning in$4$ the open hearth, and four
105:053,02['  ]| or five tallow candles smoked duskily.  But a screen was put between Gran's
105:053,03['  ]| four-poster and Herbert's bed, a screen made of a wooden clothes-horse
105:053,04['  ]| covered with sheets.  Jack, however, from his position by$4$ Herbert's pillow,
105:053,05['  ]| could see beyond the screen to$4$ Gran's section.
105:053,06['  ]| His attention was drawn by$4$ the patient.  Herbert's movements were sudden
105:053,07['  ]| and convulsive, and always in$4$ a sudden jerking towards the right side of
105:053,08['  ]| the bed.  Easu had given Jack the left arm to$9$ hold, and as soon as Herbert
105:053,09['  ]| became violent, Jack could not hold him.  The left arm, lean and hard as iron,
105:053,10['  ]| broke free, and Easu jumped up$5$ and cursed Jack.
105:053,11['  ]| Here was a pretty scene!  With Gran mumbling to$4$ herself on$4$ the other side
105:053,12['  ]| the hideous sheeted screen!
105:053,13['  ]| There was nothing for$4$ it but to$9$ use cool intelligence ~~ a thing the Reds did
105:053,14['  ]| not possess.  Jack had lost his hold again, and Easu, like$4$ a reddish, glistening
105:053,15['  ]| demon, was gripping the sick man's two arms and arching over him.  Jack
105:053,16['  ]| called up$5$ his old veterinary experience and proceeded to$9$ detach himself.
105:053,17['  ]| He noticed first that$3$ Herbert was far less fierce when they did not resist
105:053,18['  ]| him.  Second, that$3$ he stopped groaning when his eyes fell away from the men
105:053,19['  ]| around him.  Third, that$3$ all the convulsive jerky movements, which$6#1$ had
105:053,20['  ]| thrown him out of the bed several times, were towards the right side of the
105:053,21['  ]| bed.  Every time he had fallen out on$4$ the right side of the bed.
105:053,22['  ]| Then why not bind him to$4$ the left?
105:053,23['  ]| The left arm had again escaped his grasp, and Easu's exasperated fury was
105:053,24['  ]| only held in$4$ check by$4$ Gran's presence.  Jack went out of the room and found
105:053,25['  ]| Katie.
105:053,26[A  ]| "Hunt me out an old sheet," 
105:053,26['  ]| he said.
105:053,27[O  ]| "What for$4$?"  
105:053,27['  ]| she asked, but went off to$9$ do his bidding.
105:053,28['  ]| When she came back she said:
105:053,29[O  ]| "Mother says they do not want to$9$ bandage Herbert, do they?"
105:053,30[A  ]| "I am going to$9$ try and bind him.  I shall not hurt him," 
105:053,30['  ]| he replied.
105:053,31[O  ]| "Oh, Jack, do not let them send for$4$ me to$9$ sit with him ~~ I hate sickness."
105:053,32[A  ]| "You give us a hand then with this sheet."
105:053,33['  ]| Between them they prepared strong bands.  Jack noosed one with sailor's
105:053,34['  ]| knots round Katie's hands, and fastened it to$4$ the table leg.
105:053,35[A  ]| "Pull!"  
105:053,35['  ]| he ordered.  
105:053,35[A  ]| "Pull as hard as you can."  
105:053,35['  ]| And as she pulled:  
105:053,35[A  ]| "Does it
105:053,36[A  ]| hurt now?"
105:053,37[O  ]| "Not a bit," 
105:053,37['  ]| she said.
105:053,38['  ]| Jack went back to$4$ the sick room.  Herbert was quiet, the three brothers
105:053,39['  ]| were sulky and silent.  They wanted above all things to$9$ get out, to$9$ get away.
105:053,40['  ]| You could see that$6#2$.  Easu glanced at Jack's hand.  There was something tense
105:053,41['  ]| and alert about Easu, like$4$ a great, wiry bird with enormous power in$4$ its lean,
105:053,42['  ]| red neck and its lean limbs.
105:053,43[A  ]| "I thought we had best bind him so$3$ as not to$9$ hurt him," 
105:053,43['  ]| said Jack.  
105:053,43[A  ]| "I know
105:053,44[A  ]| how to$9$ do it, I think."
105:053,45['  ]| The brothers said not a word, but let him go ahead.  And Jack bound the
105:054,01['  ]| left arm and the left leg, and put a band round the body of the patient.  They
105:054,02['  ]| looked on$5$, rather distantly interested.  Easu released the convulsive left arm
105:054,03['  ]| of his brother.  Jack took the sick man's hand soothingly, held it soothingly,
105:054,04['  ]| then slipped his hand up$4$ the hairy forearm and got the band attached just
105:054,05['  ]| above the elbow.  Then he fastened the ends to$4$ the bed-head.  He felt quite
105:054,06['  ]| certain he was doing right.  While he was busy Mrs*Ellis came in$5$.  She watched
105:054,07['  ]| in$4$ silence, too.  When it was done Jack looked at her.
105:054,08[I  ]| "I believe it will$1$ do," 
105:054,08['  ]| she said with a nod of approval.  And then, to$4$ the cowed,
105:054,09['  ]| hulking brothers, 
105:054,09[I  ]| "You might as well go and get your tea."
105:054,10['  ]| They bumped into one another trying to$9$ get through the door.  Jack
105:054,11['  ]| noticed they were in$4$ their stocking feet.  They stooped outside the door to$9$
105:054,12['  ]| pick up$5$ their boots.
105:054,13@a   | "Good idea!"  
105:054,13['  ]| he thought.  And he took off his own boots.  It made him feel
105:054,14['  ]| more on$4$ the job.
105:054,15['  ]| Mrs*Ellis went round the white bed-sheet screen to$9$ sit with Gran.  Jack went
105:054,16['  ]| blowing out the reeking candles on$4$ the sick man's side of the same screen.
105:054,17['  ]| Then he sat on$4$ a hard chair facing the staring, grimacing patient.  He felt
105:054,18['  ]| sorry for$4$ him, but repelled by$4$ him.  Yet as Herbert tossed his wiry, hairy free
105:054,19['  ]| arm and jerked his hairy, sharp-featured face, Jack wanted to$9$ help him.
105:054,20['  ]| He remembered the vet's advice:  
105:054,20[W  ]| "Get the creature's confidence, lad, and
105:054,21[W  ]| you can do anything with them.  Horse or man, cat or canary, get the creature's
105:054,22[W  ]| confidence, and if anything can be done, you can do it."
105:054,23['  ]| Jack wanted to$9$ proceed to$9$ get the creature's confidence.  He knew it was a
105:054,24['  ]| matter of will$0$:  of holding the other creature's will$0$ with his own will$0$.  But
105:054,25['  ]| gently, and in$4$ a kindly spirit.
105:054,26['  ]| He held Herbert's hard fingers softly in$4$ his own hand, and said softly:
105:054,27[A  ]| "Keep quiet, old man, keep quiet.  I am here.  I will$1$ take care of you.  You rest.
105:054,28[A  ]| You go to$4$ sleep.  I will$1$ not leave you.  I will$1$ take care of you."
105:054,29['  ]| Herbert lay still as if listening.  His muscles relaxed.  He seemed dreadfully
105:054,30['  ]| tired ~~ Jack could feel it.  He was dreadfully, dreadfully tired.  Perhaps the
105:054,31['  ]| womanless brutal life of the Reds had made him so$5#1$ tired.  He seemed to$9$ go to$4$
105:054,32['  ]| sleep.  Then he jerked awake, and the convulsive struggling began again,
105:054,33['  ]| with the frightful rolling of the eyes.
105:054,34['  ]| But the steady bonds that$6#1$ held him seemd to$9$ comfort him, and Jack
105:054,35['  ]| quietly took the clutching fingers again.  And the sick man's eyes, in$4$ their
105:054,36['  ]| rolling, rested on$4$ the quiet abstract face of the youth, with strange watching.
105:054,37['  ]| Jack did not move.  And again Herbert's tension seemed to$9$ relax.  He seemed
105:054,38['  ]| in$4$ an agony of desire to$9$ sleep, but the agony of desire was so$5#1$ great, that$3$ the
105:054,39['  ]| very fear of it jerked the sick man into horrible wakefulness.
105:054,40['  ]| Jack was saying silently, with his will$0$:  
105:054,40[A  ]| "Do not worry!  Do not worry, old man!
105:054,41[A  ]| Do not worry!  You go to$4$ sleep.  I will$1$ look after you."
105:054,42['  ]| And as he sat in$4$ dead silence, saying these things, he felt as if the fluid of
105:054,43['  ]| his life ran out of his fingers into the fingers of the hurt man.  He was left
105:054,44['  ]| weak and limp.  And Herbert began to$9$ go to$4$ sleep, really to$4$ sleep.
105:054,45['  ]| Jack sat in$4$ a daze, with the virtue gone out of him.  And Herbert's fingers
105:055,01['  ]| were soft and childlike again in$4$ their relaxation.
105:055,02['  ]| The boy started a little, feeling someone pat him on$4$ the shoulder.  It was
105:055,03['  ]| Mrs*Ellis, patting him in$4$ commendation, because the patient was sunk deep
105:055,04['  ]| in$4$ sleep.  Then she went out.
105:055,05['  ]| Following her with his eyes, Jack saw another figure in$4$ the doorway.  It was
105:055,06['  ]| Red Easu, like$4$ a wolf out of the shadow, looking in$5$.  And Jack quietly let slip
105:055,07['  ]| the heavy, sleeping fingers of the sick man.  But he did not move his posture.
105:055,08['  ]| Then he was aware that$3$ Easu had gone again.
105:055,00[U  ]| <vii>
105:055,09['  ]| It was late, and the noise of rain outside, and weird wind blowing.  Mrs*Ellis
105:055,10['  ]| had been in$5$ and whispered that$3$ 
105:055,10@i   | Dr%*Rackett was not home yet ~~ that$3$ he had
105:055,11@i   | probably waited somewhere for$4$ the shay.  And that$3$ she had told the Reds to$9$
105:055,12@i   | keep away.
105:055,13['  ]| There was dead silence save for$4$ the weather outside, and a noise of the
105:055,14['  ]| fire.  The candles were all blown out.
105:055,15['  ]| He was startled by$4$ hearing Gran's voice:
105:055,16@z   | "Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings ~~ "
105:055,17@a   | "She is reading,"  
105:055,17['  ]| thought Jack, though there was no$2$ light to$9$ read by$4$.  And
105:055,18['  ]| he wondered why the old lady was not asleep.
105:055,19[M  ]| "I knew your mother's father, Jack*Grant," 
105:055,19['  ]| came the thin petulant voice.  
105:055,19[M  ]| "He
105:055,20[M  ]| cut off my leg.  Devil of a fella would not let me die when I wanted to$9$.  Cut it off
105:055,21[M  ]| without a murmur, and no$2$ chloroform."
105:055,22['  ]| The thin voice was so$5#1$ devilishly awake, in$4$ the darkness of the night, like$4$ a
105:055,23['  ]| voice out of the past piercing the inert present.
105:055,24[M  ]| "What did he care!  What did he care!  Not a bit," 
105:055,24['  ]| Gran went on$5$.  
105:055,24[M  ]| "And you are
105:055,25[M  ]| another.  You take after him.  You are such another.  You are a throw-back, to$4$
105:055,26[M  ]| your mother's father.  I was wondering what I was going to$9$ do with those
105:055,27[M  ]| great galoots in$4$ my room all night.  I am glad it is you."
105:055,28['  ]| Jack thought:  
105:055,28@a   | "Lord, have I got to$9$ sit here all night!"
105:055,29[M  ]| "You have got the night before you," 
105:055,29['  ]| said Gran's demonishly wakeful voice,
105:055,30['  ]| uncanny in$4$ its thin alertness, in$4$ the deep night.  
105:055,30[M  ]| "So$3$ come round here to$4$ the
105:055,31[M  ]| fireside and make yourself comfortable."
105:055,32['  ]| Jack rose obediently and went round the screen.  After all, an arm-chair
105:055,33['  ]| would be welcome.
105:055,34[M  ]| "Well, say something," 
105:055,34['  ]| said Gran.
105:055,35['  ]| The boy peered at her in$4$ the dusk, in$4$ a kind of fear.
105:055,36[M  ]| "Then light me a candle, for$4$ the land's sake," 
105:055,36['  ]| she said pettishly.
105:055,37['  ]| He took a tin candle-stick with a tallow candle, blew the fire and made a
105:055,38['  ]| yellow light.  She looked like$4$ a carved ivory Chinese figure, almost grotesque,
105:055,39['  ]| among her pillows.
105:055,40[M  ]| "Yes, you are like$4$ your grandfather:  a stocky, stubborn man as did not say much,
105:055,41[M  ]| but dare do anything.  And never had a son.  Hard as nails the man was."
105:056,01@a   | "More family!"  
105:056,01['  ]| thought Jack wearily, disapproving of Gran's language
105:056,02['  ]| thoroughly.
105:056,03[M  ]| "Had two daughters though, and disowned the eldest.  Your mother was
105:056,04[M  ]| the youngest.  The eldest got herself into trouble and he turned her out.
105:056,05[M  ]| Regular obstinate fool, and no$2$ bowels of compassion.  That$6#2$ is how men are
105:056,06[M  ]| when you let them.  You are the same."
105:056,07['  ]| Jack was so$5#1$ sleepy, so$5#1$ sleepy, and the words of the old woman seemed like$4$
105:056,08['  ]| something pricking him.
105:056,09[M  ]| "I would have stood by$4$ her ~~ but I was her age, and what could I do?  I would have
105:056,10[M  ]| married her father if I could, for$3$ he was a widower.  But he married another
105:056,11[M  ]| woman for$4$ his second, and I went by$4$ ship to$4$ Melbourne, and then I took
105:056,12[M  ]| poor old Ellis."
105:056,13@a   | What on$4$ earth made her say these things, he did not know, for$3$ he was dead
105:056,14@a   | sleepy, and if he had been wide awake he would not have wanted her to$9$ unload
105:056,15@a   | this sort of stuff on$4$ him.  But she went on$5$, like$3$ the old demon she was:
105:056,16[M  ]| "Men are fools, and women make them what they are.  I followed your aunt*Lizzie
105:056,17[M  ]| up$5$, years after.  She married a man in$4$ the mounted police, and he sent
105:056,18[M  ]| the boy off.  The boy was a bit weak-minded, and the man would not have him.
105:056,19[M  ]| So$3$ the lad disappeared into the bush.  They say he was canny enough about 
105:056,20[M  ]| the business and farming, but a bit off about people.  Anyway he was Mary's
105:056,21[M  ]| half-brother:  you met Mary in$4$ Perth.  Her scamp of a father was father of
105:056,22[M  ]| that$6#2$ illegitimate boy.  But she is an orphan now, poor child:  like$4$ that$6#2$ illegitimate
105:056,23[M  ]| half-brother of hers."
105:056,24['  ]| Jack looked up$5$ pathetically.  He \did not\ want to$9$ hear.  And Gran suddenly
105:056,25['  ]| laughed at him, with the sudden daring, winsome laugh, like$4$ Lennie.
105:056,26[M  ]| "You are a bundle of conventions, like$4$ your grandfather," 
105:056,26['  ]| she said tenderly.
105:056,27[M  ]| "But you have got a kinder heart.  I suppose that$6#2$ is from your English father.  Folks
105:056,28[M  ]| are tough in$4$ Australia:  tough as whit-leather.  You will$1$ be tempted to$9$ sin, but you
105:056,29[M  ]| will$1$ not be tempted to$9$ condemn.  And never you mind.  Trust yourself, Jack*Grant.
105:056,30[M  ]| \Earn a good opinion of yourself\, and never mind other folks.  You have only
105:056,31[M  ]| got to$9$ live once.  You know when you are spirit glows ~~ trust that$6#2$.  That$6#2$ is \you\!
105:056,32[M  ]| That$6#2$ is the spirit of God in$4$ you.  Trust in$4$ that$6#2$, and you will$1$ never grow old.  If
105:056,33[M  ]| you knuckle under, you will$1$ grow old."
105:056,34['  ]| She paused for$4$ a time.
105:056,35[M  ]| "Though I do not know that$3$ I have much room to$9$ talk," 
105:056,35['  ]| she ruminated on$5$.
105:056,36[M  ]| "There was my son, Esau, he never knuckled under, and though he is dead,
105:056,37[M  ]| I have not much good to$9$ say of him.  But then he never had a kind heart:  never.
105:056,38[M  ]| Never a woman loved Esau, though some feared him.  I was not among them.
105:056,39[M  ]| Not I.  I feared no$2$ man, not even your grandfather:  except a little.  But look at
105:056,40[M  ]| Dad here now.  He has got a kind heart:  as kind a heart as ever beat.  And he has
105:056,41[M  ]| gone old.  And he has got heart disease.  And he knuckled under.  Ay, he
105:056,42[M  ]| knuckled under to$4$ me, he did, poor lad.  And he will$1$ go off sudden, when his
105:056,43[M  ]| heart gives way.  That$6#2$ is how it is with kind-hearted men.  They knuckle
105:056,44[M  ]| under, and they die young.  Like$4$ Dad here.  He will$1$ never make old bones.  Poor
105:056,45[M  ]| lad!"
105:057,01['  ]| She mused again in$4$ silence.
105:057,02[M  ]| "There is nothing to$9$ win in$4$ life, when all is said and done, but a good
105:057,03[M  ]| opinion of yourself.  I have watched and I know.  God is yourself.  Or put it the
105:057,04[M  ]| other way if you like$1$:  yourself is God.  So$3$ win a good opinion of yourself, and
105:057,05[M  ]| watch the glow inside you."
105:057,06@a   | Queer, 
105:057,06['  ]| thought Jack, 
105:057,06@a   | that$3$ this should be an old woman's philosophy.
105:057,07@a   | Yourself is God!  Partly he believed it, partly he did not.  He did not know what
105:057,08@a   | he believed.  Watch the glow inside you.  That$6#2$ he understood.
105:057,09@a   | He liked Gran.  She was so$5#1$ alone in$4$ life, amid all her children.  He himself
105:057,10@a   | was a lone wolf too:  among the lambs of the family.  And perhaps Red Easu
105:057,11@a   | was a lone wolf.
105:057,12[M  ]| "But what was I telling you?"  
105:057,12['  ]| Gran resumed.  
105:057,12[M  ]| "About your illegitimate
105:057,13[M  ]| cousin.  I followed him up$5$ too.  He went back beyond Atherton, and took up$5$
105:057,14[M  ]| land.  He has got a tidy place now, and he has never married.  He is wrong in$4$ his
105:057,15[M  ]| head about people, but all right about the farm.  I am hoping that$6#2$ place will$1$ come
105:057,16[M  ]| to$4$ Mary one day, for$3$ the child has got nothing.  She is a good child ~~ a good
105:057,17[M  ]| child.  Her mother was a niece of mine."  
105:057,17['  ]| She seemed to$9$ be going to$9$ sleep.
105:057,18['  ]| But, like$4$ Herbert, she roused again.
105:057,19[M  ]| "You had better marry Mary.  Make up$5$ your mind to$4$ it," 
105:057,19['  ]| she said.
105:057,20['  ]| And instantly he rebelled against the thought.  
105:057,20@a   | Never.
105:057,21[M  ]| "Perhaps I had ought to$9$ have said:  ""The best in$4$ yourself is God,"" 
105:057,21['  ]| she mused.
105:057,22[M  ]| "Perhaps that$6#2$ is more it.  The best in$4$ yourself is God.  But then who$6#2$ is going to$9$
105:057,23[M  ]| say what \is\ the best in$4$ yourself.  A kind man knuckles under, and thinks it is
105:057,24[M  ]| the best in$4$ himself.  And a hard man holds out, and thinks that$6#2$ is the best in$4$
105:057,25[M  ]| himself.  And it is \not\ good for$4$ a kind man to$9$ knuckle under, and it is \not\ good
105:057,26[M  ]| for$4$ a hard-hearted man to$9$ hold out.  What is to$9$ be done, dreary-me, what is to$9$
105:057,27[M  ]| be done.  And no$2$ matter what we say, people will$1$ be as they are.  You can but
105:057,28[M  ]| watch the glow."
105:057,29['  ]| She really did doze off.  And Jack stole away to$4$ the other side of the screen
105:057,30['  ]| to$9$ escape her, leaving the candle burning.
105:057,00[U  ]| <viii>
105:057,31['  ]| He sat down thankfully on$4$ the hard chair by$4$ Herbert's side, glad to$9$ get away
105:057,32['  ]| from women.  Glad to$9$ be with men, if it was only Herbert.  Glad to$9$ doze and
105:057,33['  ]| feel alone:  to$9$ feel alone.
105:057,34['  ]| He awoke with a jerk and a cramped neck, and there was Tom peeping in$5$.
105:057,35@a   | Tom?  They must be back.  
105:057,35['  ]| Jack's chair creaked as he made a movement to$9$ get
105:057,36['  ]| up$5$.  But Tom only waved his hand and disappeared.  
105:057,36@a   | Mean of Tom.
105:057,37@a   | They must be back.  The twins must be back.  The family was replenished.
105:057,38['  ]| He stared with sleepy eyes, and a heavy, sleepy, sleepy head.
105:057,39['  ]| And the next thing he heard was a soft, alert voice saying:
105:057,40[D  ]| "Hello, Bow!"
105:057,41@a   | Queer how it echoed in$4$ his dark consciousness as he slept, this soft, 
105:057,41@d   | "Hello,
105:058,01@d   | Bow!"
105:058,02['  ]| There they were, both laughing, fresh with the wind and rain.  Grace
105:058,03['  ]| standing just behind Monica.  Monica's hair all tight crisp with rain, blond at
105:058,04['  ]| the temples, darker on$4$ the head, and her fresh face laughing, and her yellow
105:058,05['  ]| eyes looking with that$6#2$ long meaningful look that$6#1$ had no$2$ meaning, peering
105:058,06['  ]| into his sleepy eyes.  He felt something stir inside him.
105:058,07[D  ]| "Hello, Bow!"  
105:058,07['  ]| she said again, putting her fingers on$4$ his sleeve.  
105:058,07[D  ]| "We have got
105:058,08[D  ]| back."  
105:058,08['  ]| And still in$4$ his sleep-stupor he stared without answering a word.
105:058,09[D  ]| "You are not awake!"  
105:058,09['  ]| she whispered, putting her cold hand suddenly on$4$ his
105:058,10['  ]| face, and laughing as he started back.  A new look came into his eyes as he
105:058,11['  ]| stared startled at her, and she bent her head, turning aside.
105:058,12[E  ]| "Poo!  Smells of stinking candles in$4$ here!"  
105:058,12['  ]| whispered Grace.
105:058,13@a   | Someone else was there.  It was Red Easu in$4$ the doorway, saying in$4$ a hoarse
105:058,14@a   | voice:
105:058,15[N  ]| "Want me to$9$ take a spell with Herbert?"
105:058,16['  ]| Monica glanced back at him with a strange look.  He loomed weird and tall,
105:058,17['  ]| with his rather long, red neck and glistening beard and quick blue eyes.  A
105:058,18['  ]| certain sense of power came with him.
105:058,19[N  ]| "Hello, girls, got back!"  
105:058,19['  ]| he added to$4$ the twins, who$6#1$ watched him without
105:058,20['  ]| speaking.
105:058,21[M  ]| "Who$6#2$ is there?"  
105:058,21['  ]| said Gran's voice from the other side of the screen.  
105:058,21[M  ]| "Is it
105:058,22[M  ]| the girls back?  Has Mary come with you?"
105:058,23['  ]| As if in$4$ answer to$4$ the summons, Mary appeared in$4$ the doorway, wearing a
105:058,24['  ]| white apron.  She glanced first at Jack, with her black eyes, and then at Gran.
105:058,25['  ]| Monica was watching with her sideways lynx look, and Grace was looking at
105:058,26['  ]| everybody with big blue eyes, while Easu looked down from his uncouth,
105:058,27['  ]| ostrich height.
105:058,28[B  ]| "Hello, Gran!"  
105:058,28['  ]| said Mary, going to$4$ the other side of the screen to$9$ kiss the
105:058,29['  ]| old lady.  The twins followed suit.
105:058,30[N  ]| "Want me to$9$ take a spell in$4$ here?"  
105:058,30['  ]| said Easu, jerking his thumb at the
105:058,31['  ]| sleeping Herbert.  Easu wore black trousers hitched up$5$ high with braces over
105:058,32['  ]| a dark-grey flannel shirt, and leather leggings, but no$2$ boots.  His shirt-sleeves
105:058,33['  ]| were rolled up$5$ from his sinewy brown arms.  His reddish hair was thick
105:058,34['  ]| and rather long.  He spoke in$4$ a deep gruff voice, that$6#1$ he made as quiet as
105:058,35['  ]| possible, and he seemed to$9$ show a gruff sort of submissiveness to$4$ Jack at the
105:058,36['  ]| moment.
105:058,37[M  ]| "No$7$, Easu," 
105:058,37['  ]| replied Gran.  
105:058,37[M  ]| "I can not do with you.  Jack*Grant will$1$ manage."
105:058,38['  ]| The sick man was sleeping through it all like$4$ the dead.
105:058,39[B  ]| "I can take a turn," 
105:058,39['  ]| said Mary's soft low, insidious voice.
105:058,40[M  ]| "No$7$, not you either, Mary.  You go to$4$ sleep after that$6#2$ drive.  Go, all of you,
105:058,41[M  ]| go to$4$ bed.  I can not do with you all in$4$ here.  Has Dr%*Rackett come?"
105:058,42[N  ]| "No$7$," 
105:058,42['  ]| said Easu.
105:058,43[M  ]| "Then go away, all of you.  I can not do with you," 
105:058,43['  ]| said Gran.
105:058,44['  ]| Mary came round the screen and shook hands with Jack, looking him full
105:058,45['  ]| in$4$ the eyes with her black eyes, so$3$ that$3$ he was uncomfortable.  She made him
105:059,01['  ]| more uncomfortable than Monica did.  Monica had slunk also round the
105:059,02['  ]| screen, and was standing with one foot trailing, watching.  She watched just as
105:059,03['  ]| closely when Mary shook hands with the embarrassed Easu.
105:059,04['  ]| They all entreated silently to$4$ the door.  Grace went first.  And with her big,
105:059,05['  ]| dark-blue eyes she glanced back inquisitively at Jack.  Mary went next ~~ she
105:059,06['  ]| too turning in$4$ the door to$9$ give him a look and an intimate, furtive-seeming
105:059,07['  ]| smile.  Then came Monica, and like$4$ a wolf she lingered in$4$ the door looking
105:059,08['  ]| back with a long, meaningful, meaningless sidelong look before she took her
105:059,09['  ]| departure.  Then on$4$ her heels went Easu, and he did not look back.  He
105:059,10['  ]| seemed to$9$ loom over the girls.
105:059,11[M  ]| "Blow the light out," 
105:059,11['  ]| said Gran.
105:059,12['  ]| He went round to$9$ blow out the candle.  
105:059,12@a   | Gran lay there like$4$ an old angel.
105:059,13@a   | Queer old soul ~~ framed by$4$ pillow frills.
105:059,14@m   | "Yourself is God!"
105:059,15['  ]| Jack thought of that$6#2$ with a certain exultance.
105:059,16['  ]| He went over and made up$5$ the fire.  Then he sat in$4$ the arm-chair.  Herbert
105:059,17['  ]| was moving.  He went over to$9$ soothe him.  The sick man moaned steadily for$4$
105:059,18['  ]| some time, for$4$ a long time, then went still again.  Jack slept in$4$ the hard chair.
105:059,19['  ]| He woke up$5$ cramped and cold, and went round to$4$ the arm-chair by$4$ the
105:059,20['  ]| fire.  Gran was sleeping like$4$ an inert bit of ivory.  He softly attended to$4$ the fire
105:059,21['  ]| and sat down in$4$ the arm-chair.
105:059,22@a   | He was riding a horse a long, long way, on$4$ a journey that$6#1$ would never end.
105:059,23@a   | He could not stop the horse till it stopped of itself.  And it would never stop.  A
105:059,24@a   | voice said:  What has he done?  And a voice answered:  Conquered the world.
105:059,25@a   | But the horse did not stop.  
105:059,25['  ]| And he woke and saw shadows on$4$ the wall, and
105:059,26['  ]| slept again.  
105:059,26@a   | Things had all turned to$4$ dough ~~ his hands were heavy with
105:059,27@a   | dough.  
105:059,27['  ]| He woke and looked at his hands to$9$ see if it were so$5#2$.  
105:059,27@a   | How loudly and
105:059,28@a   | fiercely the clock ticked.
105:059,29@a   | Not dough, but boxing-gloves.  He was fighting inside a ring, fighting with
105:059,30@a   | somebody who$6#1$ was and who$6#1$ was not Easu.  He could beat Easu ~~ he could not
105:059,31@a   | beat Easu.  Easu had knocked him down:  he was lying writhing with pain and
105:059,32@a   | could not rise, while they were counting him out.  In$4$ three more seconds he
105:059,33@a   | would be counted out!  Horror!
105:059,34['  ]| He woke, it was midnight and Herbert was writhing.
105:059,35[A  ]| "Did I sleep a minute, Herbert?"  
105:059,35['  ]| he whispered.
105:059,36[P  ]| "My head!  My head!  It jerks so$5#2$!"
105:059,37[A  ]| "Does it, old man.  Never mind."
105:059,38['  ]| And the next thought was:  
105:059,38@a   | "There must have been gun-powder in$4$ that$6#2$
105:059,39@a   | piece of wood, in$4$ the fire."
105:059,00[U  ]| <ix>
105:059,40['  ]| It was half-past one, and Mary unexpectedly appeared with tray and lighted
105:059,41['  ]| candle, and cocoa-milk for$4$ Jack and arrowroot for$4$ Herbert.  She fed Herbert
105:060,01['  ]| with a spoon, and he swallowed, but made no$2$ sign that$6#1$ he understood.
105:060,02[A  ]| "How did he get the accident?"  
105:060,02['  ]| Jack whispered.
105:060,03[B  ]| "His horse threw him against a tree."
105:060,04[A  ]| "Wish Rackett would come," 
105:060,04['  ]| whispered Jack.
105:060,05['  ]| Mary shook her head and they were silent.
105:060,06[A  ]| "How old are you, Mary?"  
105:060,06['  ]| Jack asked.
105:060,07[B  ]| "Nineteen."
105:060,08[A  ]| "I am eighteen at the end of this month."
105:060,09[B  ]| "I know ~~ but I am much older than you."
105:060,10['  ]| Jack looked at her queer dark muzzle.  She seemed to$9$ have a queer, humble
105:060,11['  ]| complacency of her own.
105:060,12[A  ]| "She" ~~ 
105:060,12['  ]| Jack nodded his head towards Gran ~~ 
105:060,12[A  ]| "says that$3$ knuckling under
105:060,13[A  ]| makes you old."
105:060,14['  ]| Mary laughed suddenly.
105:060,15[B  ]| "Then I am a thousand," 
105:060,15['  ]| she said.
105:060,16[A  ]| "What do you knuckle under for$4$?"  
105:060,16['  ]| he asked.
105:060,17['  ]| She looked up$5$ at him slowly, and again something quick and hot stirred in$4$
105:060,18['  ]| him, from her dark, queer, humble, yet assured face.
105:060,19[B  ]| "It is my way," 
105:060,19['  ]| she said, with an odd smile.
105:060,20[A  ]| "Funny way to$9$ have," 
105:060,20['  ]| he replied, and suddenly he was embarrassed.  And
105:060,21['  ]| he thought of Monica's dare-devil way.
105:060,22['  ]| He felt embarrassed.
105:060,23[B  ]| "I must have my own way," 
105:060,23['  ]| said Mary, with another odd, beseeching, and
105:060,24['  ]| yet darkly confident smile.
105:060,25@a   | "Yourself is God," 
105:060,25['  ]| thought Jack.  But he said nothing, because he felt
105:060,26['  ]| uncomfortable.
105:060,27['  ]| And Mary went away with the tray and the light, and he was glad when she
105:060,28['  ]| was gone.
105:060,00[U  ]| <x>
105:060,29['  ]| The worst part of the night.  Nothing happened ~~ and that$6#2$ was perhaps the
105:060,30['  ]| worst part of it.  Fortified by$4$ the powers of darkness, the slightest sounds took
105:060,31['  ]| on$5$ momentous importance, but nothing happened.  He expected
105:060,32['  ]| something ~~ but nothing came.
105:060,33['  ]| Gran asleep there, in$4$ all the fixed motionlessness of her years, a queer
105:060,34['  ]| white clot.  And young Herbert asleep or unconscious, sending wild vibrations
105:060,35['  ]| from his brain.
105:060,36['  ]| The thought of Monica seemed to$9$ flutter subjectively in$4$ Jack's soul, the
105:060,37['  ]| thought of Mary objectively.  
105:060,37@a   | That$6#2$ is, Monica was somehow inside him, in$4$ his
105:060,38@a   | blood, like$4$ a sister.  And Mary was outside him, like$4$ a black-boy.  Both of them
105:060,39@a   | engaging his soul.  And yet he was alone, all alone in$4$ the universe.  These two
105:060,40@a   | only beset him.  Or did he beset them?
105:060,41['  ]| The opossums made a furious bombilation as they ran up$5$ and down
105:061,01['  ]| back and forth between the roof and ceiling, like$4$ an army moving.  And
105:061,02['  ]| suddenly, shatteringly, a nut would come down on$4$ the old shingle roof from
105:061,03['  ]| the Moreton*Bay fig outside, with a crash like$4$ a gun, while the branches
105:061,04['  ]| dangled and clanked against the timber walls.  An immense uncanny strider!
105:061,05['  ]| And him alone in$4$ the lonely, uncanny, timeless core of the night.
105:061,06['  ]| Slowly the night went by$5$.  And weird things awoke in$4$ the boy's soul, things
105:061,07['  ]| he could never quite put to$4$ sleep again.  He felt as if 
105:061,07@a   | this night he had entered
105:061,08@a   | into a dense impenetrable thicket.  As if he would never get out.  He knew he
105:061,09@a   | would never get out.
105:061,10['  ]| He awoke again with a start.  
105:061,10@a   | Was it the first light?  
105:061,10['  ]| Herbert was stirring
105:061,11['  ]| Jack went quickly to$4$ him.
105:061,12['  ]| Herbert opened dazed eyes, and mutely looked at Jack.  A look of intelligence
105:061,13['  ]| came, and as quickly passed.  He groaned, and the torment came over
105:061,14['  ]| him once more.  
105:061,14@a   | Whatever was the matter with him?  He writhed and struggled,
105:061,15@a   | groaning ~~ then relapsed into a cold, inert silence.  It was as if he were
105:061,16@a   | dying.  As if he, or something in$4$ him, had decided to$9$ die.
105:061,17['  ]| Jack was terribly startled.  In$4$ terror, he mixed a little brandy and milk, and
105:061,18['  ]| tried to$9$ pour spoonfuls down the unresisting throat.  He quickly fetched a
105:061,19['  ]| hot stone from the fire, wrapped it in$4$ a piece of blanket , and put it in$4$ the bed.
105:061,20['  ]| Then he sat down and took the young man's hand softly in$4$ his own and
105:061,21['  ]| whispered intensely:  
105:061,21[A  ]| "Come back, Herbert!  Come back!  Come back!"
105:061,22['  ]| With all his will$0$ he summoned the inert spirit.  He was terribly afraid the
105:061,23['  ]| other would die.  He sat and watched with a fixed, intent will$0$.  And Herbert
105:061,24['  ]| relaxed again, the life came round his eyes again.
105:061,25@a   | "Oh, God!"  
105:061,25['  ]| thought Jack.  
105:061,25@a   | "I shall die.  I shall die myself.  What sort of a life
105:061,26@a   | have I got to$9$ live before I die?  Oh, God, what sort of a life have I got between
105:061,27@a   | me and when I die?"
105:061,28['  ]| And it all seemed a mystery to$4$ him.  
105:061,28@a   | The God he called on$4$ was a dark,
105:061,29@a   | almost fearful mystery.  The life he had to$9$ live was a kind of doom.  The
105:061,30@a   | choice he had was no$2$ choice.  
105:061,30@m   | "Yourself is God."  
105:061,30@a   | It was not true.  There was a
105:061,31@a   | terrible God somewhere else.  And nothing else than this.
105:061,32@a   | Because, inside himself, he was alone, without father or mother or place or
105:061,33@a   | people.  Just a separate living thing.  And he could not choose his doom of
105:061,34@a   | living nor his dying.  Somewhere outside himself was a terrible God who$6#1$
105:061,35@a   | decreed.
105:061,36@a   | He was afraid of the thicket of life, in$4$ which$6#1$ he found himself like$4$ a
105:061,37@a   | solitary, strange animal.  He would have to$9$ find his way through:  all the way
105:061,38@a   | to$4$ death.  But what sort of way?  What sort of life?  What sort of life between
105:061,39@a   | him and death?
105:061,40@a   | He did not know.  He only knew that$3$ something must be.  That$3$ he was in$4$ a
105:061,41@a   | strange bush, and by$4$ himself.  And that$3$ he must find his way through.
106:062,00[U  ]| <In the Yard>
106:062,00[U  ]| <I>
106:062,01@a   | Ah, good to$9$ be out in$4$ the open air again!  Beyond all telling good!  Those
106:062,02@a   | indoor rooms were like$4$ coffins.  To$9$ be dead, and to$9$ writhe unreleased
106:062,03@a   | in$4$ the coffin, that$6#2$ was what those indoor rooms were like$4$.
106:062,04[A  ]| "God, when I die, let me pass right away," 
106:062,04['  ]| prayed Jack.  
106:062,04[A  ]| "Lord, I promise to$9$
106:062,05[A  ]| live my life right out, so$3$ that$3$ when I die I pass over and do not lie wriggling in$4$
106:062,06[A  ]| the coffin!"
106:062,07['  ]| Mary had come as soon as it was light, and found Herbert asleep and Jack
106:062,08['  ]| staring at him in$4$ a stupor.
106:062,09[B  ]| "You go to$4$ sleep now, Bow," 
106:062,09['  ]| said Mary softly, laying her hand on$4$ his arm.
106:062,10['  ]| He looked at her in$4$ a kind of horror, as if she were part of the dark
106:062,11['  ]| interior.  
106:062,11@a   | He did not want to$9$ go to$4$ sleep.  He wanted to$9$ wake.  
106:062,11['  ]| He stood in$4$ the
106:062,12['  ]| yard and stared around stupefied at the early morning.  Then he went and
106:062,13['  ]| hauled Lennie and the twins out of their bunks.  Tom was already up$5$.  Then
106:062,14['  ]| he went, stripped to$4$ the waist, to$4$ the pump.
106:062,15[A  ]| "Pump over my nut, Lennie," 
106:062,15['  ]| he shouted, holding his head at the pump
106:062,16['  ]| spout.  
106:062,16@a   | Oh, it was so$5#1$ good to$9$ shout at somebody.  He must shout.
106:062,17['  ]| And Lennie pumped away like$4$ a little imp.
106:062,18['  ]| When Jack looked out of the towel at the day, he saw the sky fresh with
106:062,19['  ]| yellow light, and some red still on$4$ the horizon above the grey gum-trees.  
106:062,19@a   | It all
106:062,20@a   | seemed crisp and snappy.  It was life.
106:062,21[J  ]| "Are not you goin' to$9$ do any of your monkey trickin' this morning?" 
106:062,21['  ]| shouted
106:062,22['  ]| Lennie at him.
106:062,23['  ]| Jack shook his head, and rubbed his white young shoulders with the towel.
106:062,24['  ]| Lennie, standing by$4$ the wash-tin in$4$ his little under-vest and loose little
106:062,25['  ]| breeches, was watching closely.
106:062,26[A  ]| "Can you answer me a riddle, Lennie?"  
106:062,26['  ]| asked Jack.
106:062,27[J  ]| "I will$1$ try," 
106:062,27['  ]| said Len briskly, and Og and Magog jumped up$5$ in$4$ gay expectation.
106:062,28['  ]|
106:062,29[A  ]| "What \is\ God, anyhow?"  
106:062,29['  ]| asked Jack.
106:062,30[J  ]| "You had better let my father hear you," 
106:062,30['  ]| replied Lennie, with a dangerous nod of
106:062,31['  ]| the head.
106:062,32[A  ]| "No$7$, but I mean it.  Suppose Herbert had died.  I want to$9$ know what God
106:062,33[A  ]| is."
106:062,34['  ]| Jack still had the inner darkness of that$6#2$ room in$4$ his eyes.
106:062,35[J  ]| "I will$1$ tell you," 
106:062,35['  ]| said Len briskly.  
106:062,35[J  ]| "God is a Higher Law than the Constitution."
106:062,36['  ]| Jack thought about it.  
106:062,36@a   | A higher law than the law of the land.  Maybe!  The
106:063,01@a   | answer left him cold.
106:063,02[A  ]| "And what is self?"  
106:063,02['  ]| he asked.
106:063,03[J  ]| "Crickey!  Stop up$5$ another night!  It would make you sawney.  But I will$1$ tell you what
106:063,04[J  ]| self is.
106:063,05@z   | " ""Self is a wilderness of sweets.  And selves
106:063,06@z   | They eat, they drink, and in$4$ communion sweet
106:063,07@z   | Quaff immortality and joy."" "
106:063,08['  ]| Len was pleased with this.  But Jack heard only words.
106:063,09[W  ]| "Ask \me\ one, Jack!  Ask \me\ one!"  
106:063,09['  ]| pleaded Og.
106:063,10[A  ]| "All right.  What is success, Og?"  
106:063,10['  ]| asked Jack, smiling.
106:063,11[W  ]| "Success!  Success!  Why, success ~~ "
106:063,12[J  ]| "Success is to$9$ grow a big bingy like$4$ a bloke from town, and a watch-chain
106:063,13[J  ]| acrost it with a gold dial in$4$ your fob, and ter be allowed ter spout as much gab as
106:063,14[J  ]| you have got bref left over from your indigest," 
106:063,14['  ]| cut in$5$ Lennie, with delight.
106:063,15[W  ]| "That$6#2$ was \my\ riddle," 
106:063,15['  ]| yelled Og, rushing at him.
106:063,16[W  ]| "Ask me one!  Ask me one, Jack!  Ask me one," 
106:063,16['  ]| yelled Magog.
106:063,17[A  ]| "What is failure?"  
106:063,17['  ]| asked Jack, laughing.
106:063,18[J  ]| "To$9$ be down on$4$ your uppers and have no$2$ visible means of supporting your pants
106:063,19[J  ]| up$5$ whilst you slog to$4$ the nearest pub to$9$ cadge a beer spot," 
106:063,19['  ]| crowed Lennie in$4$
106:063,20['  ]| delight, while he fenced off Og.
106:063,21['  ]| Both twins made an assault and battery upon$4$ him.
106:063,22[J  ]| "Do you know your own answers?"  
106:063,22['  ]| yelled Len at Jack.
106:063,23[A  ]| "No$7$."
106:063,24['  ]| The brazenness of the admission flabbergasted the twins.  They stalked
106:063,25['  ]| off.  Len drew up$5$ a three-legged stool, and sat down to$9$ milk, explaining
106:063,26['  ]| impatiently that$3$ success comes to$4$ those that$6#1$ work and do not drink.
106:063,27[J  ]| "But" ~~ 
106:063,27['  ]| he reverted to$4$ his original thought ~~ 
106:063,27[J  ]| "you have gotta work, not go
106:063,28[J  ]| wastin' your time as you generally do of a morning ~~ boundin' about makin' a
106:063,29[J  ]| kangaroo of yourself; tippin' your elbows and holding back your nut as if you had a
106:063,30[J  ]| woppin' fine drink in$4$ both hands, and gone screwed with joy afore you
106:063,31[J  ]| drained it; lyin' flat on$4$ your hands and toes, and heavin' up$5$ and down, up$5$ and
106:063,32[J  ]| down, like$4$ a race-horse iguana frightened by$4$ a cat; and stalkin' and stoopin' as
106:063,33[J  ]| if you wanted to$9$ catch a bird round a corner; or roundin' up$5$ on$4$ imaginary
106:063,34[J  ]| things, makin' out to$9$ hit them slap-bang-whizz on$4$ the mitts they have not got;
106:063,35[J  ]| whippin' round and bobbin' like$4$ a cornered billy-goat; skippin' up$5$ and down
106:063,36[J  ]| like$4$ sis wif a rope, and makin' a general high falutin' ass of yourself."
106:063,37[A  ]| "I see you and the twins with clubs," 
106:063,37['  ]| said Jack.
106:063,38[J  ]| "Oh, that$6#2$!  That$6#2$ is more for$4$ music and one ~~ two ~~ three ~~ four," 
106:063,38['  ]| said Len.
106:063,39[A  ]| "You see I am in$4$ training," 
106:063,39['  ]| said Jack.
106:063,40[J  ]| "What for$4$?  Want to$9$ teach the old sows to$9$ start dancin' on$4$ the corn-bin
106:063,41[J  ]| floor?"
106:063,42[A  ]| "No$7$, I want to$9$ keep in$4$ training, for$4$ if I ever have a big fight."
106:063,43[J  ]| "Who$6#2$ with?"
106:063,44[A  ]| "Oh, I do not know.  But I love a round with the fists.  I will$1$ teach you."
106:064,01[J  ]| "All right.  But why do not you chuck farmin' and go in$5$ for$4$ prize fightin'?"
106:064,02[A  ]| "I wish I could.  But my father said no$7$.  And perhaps he is right.  But the best
106:064,03[A  ]| thing I know is to$9$ fight a fair round.  I will$1$ teach you, Len."
106:064,04[J  ]| "Huh!  What is the sense!  If you want exercise, you can rub that$6#2$ horse down a bit
106:064,05[J  ]| cleaner than you are doin'."
106:064,06[H  ]| "Stop your sauce, nipper, or I will$1$ be after you with a strap!"  
106:064,06['  ]| called Tom.  
106:064,06[H  ]| "Come
106:064,07[H  ]| on$5$, Jack.  Tea!  Timothy's bangin' the billy-can.  And just you land that$6#2$ nipper
106:064,08[H  ]| a clout."
106:064,09[J  ]| "Let him 'it me!  Garn, let him!"  
106:064,09['  ]| cried Len, scooting up$5$ with his milk-stool
106:064,10['  ]| and pail and looking like$4$ David skirmishing before Goliath.  He was not
106:064,11['  ]| laughing.  There was a demonish little street-arab hostility in$4$ his face.
106:064,12[A  ]| "Do not you like$1$ me, Len?"  
106:064,12['  ]| Jack asked, a bit soft this morning.  Len's face at
106:064,13['  ]| once suffused with a delightful roguishness.
106:064,14[J  ]| "Aw, yes ~~ if you like$1$.  I will$1$ be dressin' up$5$ in$4$ Katie's skirts and spoonin' you one of
106:064,15[J  ]| these bright nights."
106:064,16['  ]| He whipped away with his milk-pail, like$4$ a young lizard.
106:064,00[U  ]| <ii>
106:064,17[E  ]| "Look at Bow, he looks like$4$ an owl," 
106:064,17['  ]| said Grace at breakfast.
106:064,18[J  ]| "What do you call him Bow for$4$?"  
106:064,18['  ]| asked Len.
106:064,19[D  ]| "Like$4$ a girl, with his eyes double size," 
106:064,19['  ]| said Monica.
106:064,20[I  ]| "You had better go to$4$ sleep, Jack,"  
106:064,20['  ]| said Mrs*Ellis.
106:064,21[G  ]| "Take a nap lad," 
106:064,21['  ]| said Mr*Ellis.  
106:064,21[G  ]| "There is nothin' for$4$ you to$9$ do this morning."
106:064,22['  ]| Jack was going stupefied again as the sun grew warm.  He did not hear half
106:064,23['  ]| that$6#1$ was said.  But the girls were very attentive to$4$ him.  Mary was not there:
106:064,24['  ]| she was sitting with Herbert.  But Monica and Grace waited on$4$ him as if he
106:064,25['  ]| had been their lord.  It was a new experience for$4$ him:  Monica jumping up$5$
106:064,26['  ]| and whipping away his cup with her slim hand, to$9$ bring it back filled, and
106:064,27['  ]| Grace insisting on$4$ opening a special jar of jam for$4$ him.  Drowsy as he was,
106:064,28['  ]| their attention made his blood stir.  It was so$5#1$ new to$4$ him.
106:064,29['  ]| Mary came in$5$ from the sitting-room:  they were still in$4$ the kitchen.
106:064,30[B  ]| "Herbert is awake," 
106:064,30['  ]| she said.  
106:064,30[B  ]| "He wants to$9$ be untied.  Bow, do you think he
106:064,31[B  ]| ought to$9$?"
106:064,32['  ]| Jack rose in$4$ silence and went through to$4$ Gran's room.  Herbert lay quite
106:064,33['  ]| still, but he was himself.  Only shattered and wordless.  He looked at Jack and
106:064,34['  ]| murmured:
106:064,35[P  ]| "Can not you untie me?"
106:064,36['  ]| Jack went at once to$9$ unfasten the linen bands.  The twins, Monica and
106:064,37['  ]| Grace, stood watching from the doorway.  Mary was at his side to$9$ help.
106:064,38[P  ]| "Do not let them come in$5$," 
106:064,38['  ]| said Herbert, looking into Jack's face.
106:064,39['  ]| Jack nodded and went to$4$ the door.
106:064,40[A  ]| "He wants to$9$ be left alone," 
106:064,40['  ]| he said.
106:064,41[B  ]| "Must not we come, Bow?"  
106:064,41['  ]| said Monica, making queer yellow eyes at him.
106:065,01[A  ]| "Best not," 
106:065,01['  ]| he said.  
106:065,01[A  ]| "Do not let anybody come.  He wants absolute quiet."
106:065,02[D  ]| "All right."  
106:065,02['  ]| She looked at him with a heavy look of obedience, as if making
106:065,03['  ]| him an offering.  They were not going to$9$ question his authority.  She drew
106:065,04['  ]| Grace away:  both the girls humble.  Jack slowly and unconsciously flushed.
106:065,05['  ]| Then he went back to$4$ the bed.
106:065,06[P  ]| "I want something,"  
106:065,06['  ]| murmured Herbert wanly.  
106:065,06[P  ]| "Send that$6#2$ other away."
106:065,07[A  ]| "Go away, Mary.  He wants a man to$9$ attend to$4$ him," 
106:065,07['  ]| said Jack.
106:065,08['  ]| Mary looked a long, dark look at Jack.   Then she, too, submitted.
106:065,09[B  ]| "All right," 
106:065,09['  ]| she said, turning darkly away.
106:065,10['  ]| And it came into his mind, with utter absurdity, that$3$ he ought to$9$ kiss her
106:065,11['  ]| for$4$ this submission.  And he hated the thought.
106:065,12['  ]| Herbert was a boy of nineteen, uncouth, and savagely shy.  Jack had to$9$ do
106:065,13['  ]| the menial offices for$4$ him.
106:065,14['  ]| The sick man went to$4$ sleep again almost immediately, and Jack returned
106:065,15['  ]| to$4$ the kitchen.  He heard voices from outside.
106:065,16['  ]| Ma and Grace were washing up$5$ at the slab.  Dad was sitting under the
106:065,17['  ]| photosphorum tree, with Effie on$4$ one knee, cutting up$5$ tobacco in$4$ the palm
106:065,18['  ]| of his hand.  Tom was leaning against the tree, the children sat about.  Lennie
106:065,19['  ]| skipped up$5$ and offered a seat on$4$ a stump.
106:065,20[J  ]| "Sit yourself down, Bow," 
106:065,20['  ]| he said, using the nickname.  
106:065,20[J  ]| "I would be a knot
106:065,21[J  ]| instead of a bow if I had to$9$ nurse Red Herbert."
106:065,22['  ]| Monica came slinking up$5$ from the shade, and stood with her skirt touching
106:065,23['  ]| Jack's arm.  Mary was carrying away the dishes.
106:065,24[G  ]| "I have been telling Tom," 
106:065,24['  ]| said Mr*Ellis, 
106:065,24[G  ]| "that$3$ he can take the clearing gang
106:065,25[G  ]| over to$4$ his An't*Greenlow's for$4$ the shearing, and then get back and clear for$4$ all
106:065,26[G  ]| he is worth, till Christmas.  You might as well go along with him, Jack.  We can get
106:065,27[G  ]| along all right here without you, now the girls are back.  Till Christmas that$6#2$ is.
106:065,28[G  ]| We shall want you back for$4$ the harvest."
106:065,29['  ]| There was a dead silence.  Jack did not want to$9$ go.
106:065,30[G  ]| "Then you can go back to$4$ the clearing and burn off.  I need that$6#2$ land
106:065,31[G  ]| reclaimed, over against the little chaps grows up$5$ and wants to$9$ be farmers.
106:065,32[G  ]| Besides" ~~ 
106:065,32['  ]| and he looked round at Ma ~~ 
106:065,32[G  ]| "we are a bit overstocked in$4$ the house
106:065,33[G  ]| just now, and we will$1$ be glad of the cubby for$4$ Herbert, if he is on$4$ the mend."
106:065,34['  ]| Dad resumed cutting up$5$ his tobacco in$4$ the palm of his hand.
106:065,35[B  ]| "Jack can not leave Herbert, Uncle," 
106:065,35['  ]| said Mary quietly, 
106:065,35[B  ]| "he will$1$ not let anybody
106:065,36[B  ]| else do for$4$ him."
106:065,37[G  ]| "Eh?"  
106:065,37['  ]| said Mr*Ellis, looking up$5$.
106:065,38[B  ]| "Herbert will$1$ not let me do for$4$ him," 
106:065,38['  ]| said Mary.  
106:065,38[B  ]| "He will$1$ only let Bow."
106:065,39['  ]| Mr*Ellis dropped his head in$4$ silence.
106:065,40[G  ]| "In$4$ that$6#2$ case," 
106:065,40['  ]| he said slowly, 
106:065,40[G  ]| "in$4$ that$6#2$ case, we must wait a bit.  Where has that$6#2$
106:065,41[G  ]| darned Rackett put himself?  This is his job."
106:065,42['  ]| There was still silence.
106:065,43[H  ]| "Somebody had best go and look for$4$ him," 
106:065,43['  ]| said Tom.
106:065,44[G  ]| "Ay," 
106:065,44['  ]| said Mr*Ellis.
106:065,45['  ]| There was more silence.  Monica, standing close to$4$ Jack, seemed to$9$ be
106:066,01['  ]| fiercely sheltering him from this eviction.  And Mary, at a distance, was like$4$
106:066,02['  ]| Moses' sister watching over events.  It made Jack feel queer and thrilled, the
106:066,03['  ]| girls all concentrating on$4$ him.  It was as if it put power in$4$ his chest, and made
106:066,04['  ]| a man of him.
106:066,05['  ]| Someone was riding up$5$.  It was Red Easu.  He slung himself off his horse,
106:066,06['  ]| and stalked slowly up$5$.
106:066,07[N  ]| "Herbert dead?"  
106:066,07['  ]| he asked humorously.
106:066,08[G  ]| "Doing nicely," 
106:066,08['  ]| said Dad, very brief.
106:066,09[N  ]| "I will$1$ go and have a look at him," 
106:066,09['  ]| said Easu, sitting on$4$ the step and pulling off
106:066,10['  ]| his boots.
106:066,11[A  ]| "Do not wake him if he is asleep.  Do not frighten him, whatever you do," 
106:066,11['  ]| said
106:066,12['  ]| Jack, anxious for$4$ his charge.
106:066,13['  ]| Easu looked at Jack with an insolent stare:  a curious stare.
106:066,14[N  ]| "Frighten him?"  
106:066,14['  ]| he said.  
106:066,14[N  ]| "What with?"
106:066,15[D  ]| "Jack has been up$5$ with him all night," 
106:066,15['  ]| put in$5$ Monica, fiercely.
106:066,16[A  ]| "He nearly died in$4$ the night," 
106:066,16['  ]| said Jack.
106:066,17['  ]| There was a dead silence.  Easu stared, poised like$4$ some menacing bird.
106:066,18['  ]| Then he went indoors in$4$ his stocking feet.
106:066,19[H  ]| "Did he nearly die, Jack?"  
106:066,19['  ]| asked Tom.
106:066,20['  ]| Jack nodded.  His soul was feeling bleached.
106:066,21[A  ]| "If Doctor*Rackett is not coming ~~ see if you can trail him up$5$, Tom.  And,
106:066,22[A  ]| Len, can you go on$4$ Lucy and fetch Doctor*Mallett?"
106:066,23[J  ]| "Course I can," 
106:066,23['  ]| said  Len, jumping up$5$.
106:066,24[G  ]| "You go and get a nap in$4$ the cubby, son," 
106:066,24['  ]| said Mr*Ellis.
106:066,25['  ]| They were now all in$4$ motion.  Jack followed vaguely into the kitchen.
106:066,26['  ]| Lennie was the centre of excitement for$4$ the moment.
106:066,27[J  ]| "Well, Ma, I has no$2$ socks fitta wear.  If you will$1$ fix me some, I will$1$ go."  
106:066,27@j   | For$3$ he was
106:066,28@j   | determined to$9$ go to$4$ York in$4$ decent raiment, 
106:066,28['  ]| as he said.
106:066,29[J  ]| "Find me a decent shirt, Ma; \decent\!  None of your creases down the front
106:066,30[J  ]| for$4$ me.  And a starch collar, real starch."
106:066,31['  ]| And so$5#2$ on$5$.  He was late.  Lennie was always late.
106:066,32[J  ]| "Ma, where is my tie ~~ the blue one wif gold horse-shoes?  Grace ~~ there is an
106:066,33[J  ]| angel ~~ me boots.  Clean them up$5$ a bit, go on$5$.  Monica!  Oh, Monica; there you are!
106:066,34[J  ]| Fix this collar on$5$ for$4$ me, proper, do!  You are a bloke at it, so$3$ you are, and I am no$2$
106:066,35[J  ]| good ~~ Gitt outta the way, you nips ~~ how k'n I get dressed with you buzzin'
106:066,36[J  ]| round me feet?  Ma!  Ma!  Come and brush me 'air with that$6#2$ dinkey nice-smellin'
106:066,37[J  ]| stuff ~~ There, Ma, do not your Lennie look a dream now?  Ooha,
106:066,38[J  ]| Ma, do not kiss me, Ma, I 'ate it."
106:066,39[I  ]| "Lennie, love, do not drop your aitches."
106:066,40[J  ]| "I never, Ma.  I said I 'ate it.  You kissed me, did you or \did not you\  Well, I \'ate\ it."
106:066,41['  ]| He was gone on$4$ Lucy, like$4$ a little demon.  Jack, sitting stupid on$4$ a chair, felt
106:066,42['  ]| part of his soul go with him.
106:066,43[D  ]| "Come on$5$, Bow!"  
106:066,43['  ]| said Monica, taking him by$4$ the arm, 
106:066,43[D  ]| "Come and go to$4$
106:066,44[D  ]| sleep.  Mary will$1$ wake you if Herbert wants you."
106:066,45['  ]| And she led him off to$4$ the door of the cubby, while he submitted and Easu
106:067,01['  ]| stood in$4$ his stocking feet on$4$ the verandah watching.
106:067,02[D  ]| "He saved Herbert's life," 
106:067,02['  ]| said Monica, looking up$5$ at Easu with a kind of
106:067,03['  ]| defiance, when she came back.
106:067,04[N  ]| "Who$6#2$ asked him?"  
106:067,04['  ]| said Easu.
106:067,00[U  ]| <iii>
106:067,05['  ]| Tom and Jack were to$9$ leave the next day.  The girls brought out a lot of stores
106:067,06['  ]| from the cupboard, and blankets and billies and a lantern.  They packed the
106:067,07['  ]| sacks standing there.
106:067,08[G  ]| "Get your swag for$4$ yourselves," 
106:067,08['  ]| said Dad.  
106:067,08[G  ]| "The men have everything for$4$ themselves.
106:067,09[G  ]| Take an axe and a gun apiece."
106:067,10[J  ]| "Gun!  Gee!  K'n I go, Dad?"
106:067,11[G  ]| "Shut up$5$, Len.  Destroy all the dingoes you can.  I will$1$ give you sixpence a head,
106:067,12[G  ]| and the Government gives another.  Have not you a saddle, Jack*Grant, somewhere
106:067,13[G  ]| in$4$ a box.  Because I would be short of one off the place, if you took one from
106:067,14[G  ]| here."
106:067,15[A  ]| "It must be somewhere," 
106:067,15['  ]| said Jack.
106:067,16[G  ]| "Get it unpacked.  And you can have Lucy to$9$ put it across.  It is forty mile
106:067,17[G  ]| from here to$4$ virgin forest:  real forest.  If you get strayed, even, all you have to$9$
106:067,18[G  ]| do is to$9$ drop the reins on$4$ Lucy's neck and she will$1$ bring you in$5$."
106:067,19['  ]| The saddle came out of the dusty box.  All were there in$4$ a circle to$9$ look on$5$.
106:067,20['  ]| Jack expected deep admiration.  But he was hurt to$9$ feel Monica laughing
106:067,21['  ]| derisively.  Everybody was laughing, but he minded Monica most.  She could
106:067,22['  ]| jeer cruelly.
106:067,23[A  ]| "Jolly good saddle," 
106:067,23['  ]| said Jack.
106:067,24[J  ]| "Mighty little of it," 
106:067,24['  ]| said Len.
106:067,25[A  ]| "What is wrong with it, Tom?"  
106:067,25['  ]| said Jack.
106:067,26[H  ]| "Slithery.  No$2$ knee-pads, saddle-bags, strap-holder, scooped seat, or any
106:067,27[H  ]| sortta comfort.  It is a whale, on$4$ the wrong side."
106:067,28['  ]| Lennie closely examined the London ticket.  The unpacking continued in$4$
106:067,29['  ]| silence, under Tom's majestic eye.  Whip, yellow horse-rug, bridle, leathers, a
106:067,30['  ]| heavy bar bit with double rings and curb, saddle cloths, reins, extra special
106:067,31['  ]| blue-and-gold girths wrapped in$4$ tissue paper, nickel cross rowell jockey
106:067,32['  ]| spurs, and glittering steel stirrup-irons.  Cord breeches, assam silk coat, white
106:067,33['  ]| water-proof linen socks, leather gaiters, and a pair of leather gauntlets
106:067,34['  ]| completed the amazing disclosure.  It was all a mighty gift from one of the
106:067,35['  ]| unforgiven aunts.
106:067,36['  ]| Half way through the unpacking Tom gave a groan and walked away; but
106:067,37['  ]| walked back.  Og and Magog stole the saddle, slung it across a bar, and slid off
106:067,38['  ]| and on$5$ rapturously.  Monica was laughing at him disagreeably:  strange and
106:067,39['  ]| brutal, as if she hated him:  rather like$4$ Easu.  And Lennie was tittering with
106:067,40['  ]| joy.
106:067,41[J  ]| "Oh, Og!  Here!  You are missin' it.  Leave that$6#2$ hog's back saddle, No%*1
106:068,01[J  ]| Grade ~~ picked material ~~ hand forged ~~ tree mounted, guaranteed ~~ a
106:068,02[J  ]| topper off; see this princess palfrey bridle for$4$ you, rosettes ornamented,
106:068,03[J  ]| periwinkle and all.  And, oh, look you!  a canary belly-band for$4$ Dada to$9$ strap
106:068,04[J  ]| round the heifer's neck when she gets first prize at the Royal*York show.  Look
106:068,05[J  ]| at that$6#2$ crush-bone cage to$9$ put round Stampede's mouth when the niggers
106:068,06[J  ]| catches him again.  Oh, Lor', oh, my ~~ "
106:068,07[H  ]| "Shut up$5$!"  
106:068,07['  ]| said Tom abruptly, catching the boy by$4$ the back of his pants
106:068,08['  ]| and tossing him out of the barn.  
106:068,08[H  ]| "Now, roll up$5$ your bluey" ~~ 
106:068,08['  ]| meaning the new
106:068,09['  ]| rug, which$6#1$ was yellow.  
106:068,09[H  ]| "Fix them stirrup leathers, take the bridle off that$6#2$ bit
106:068,10[H  ]| and we will$1$ find you something decent to$9$ put the reins on$5$.  And kick the rest
106:068,11[H  ]| t'gether.  What a gear.  Glad it is you, not me, as has got to$9$ ride that$6#2$ leather, me
106:068,12[H  ]| boy.  But ride on$4$ it you will$1$ have to$9$, for$3$ there is nought else.  Now, Monica, close
106:068,13[H  ]| down that$6#2$ mirth of yours.  You are not asked for$4$ it."
106:068,14[D  ]| "Let brotherly love continue," 
106:068,14['  ]| said Monica spitefully.  
106:068,14[D  ]| "Wonder if it will$1$,
106:068,15[D  ]| even unto camp."
106:068,16['  ]| She went, leaving Jack feeling suddenly tired.
107:069,00[U  ]| <Out Back and Some Letters>
107:069,00[U  ]| <i>
107:069,01['  ]| Jack was absolutely happy, in$4$ camp with Tom.  Perhaps the most completely
107:069,02['  ]| happy time in$4$ his life.  He had escaped the strange, new complications
107:069,03['  ]| that$6#1$ life was weaving round him.  Yet he had not left the beloved
107:069,04['  ]| family.  He was with Tom:  who$6#1$, after all, was the one that$6#1$ mattered most.
107:069,05['  ]| Tom was the growing trunk of the tree.
107:069,06['  ]| All real living hurts as well as fulfils.  Happiness comes when we have lived
107:069,07['  ]| and have a respite for$4$ sheer forgetting.  Happiness, in$4$ the vulgar sense, is just
107:069,08['  ]| a holiday experience.  The life-long happiness lies in$4$ being used by$4$ life; hurt
107:069,09['  ]| by$4$ life, driven and goaded by$4$ life, replenished and overjoyed with life,
107:069,10['  ]| fighting for$4$ life's sake.  That$6#2$ is real happiness.  In$4$ the undergoing, a large part
107:069,11['  ]| of it is pain.  But the end is like$4$ Jack's camping expedition, a time of real
107:069,12['  ]| happiness.
107:069,13['  ]| Perhaps death, after a life of real courage, is like$4$ a happy camping
107:069,14['  ]| expedition in$4$ the unknown, before a new start.
107:069,15['  ]| It was spring in$4$ Western*Australia, and a wonder of delicate blueness, of
107:069,16['  ]| frail, unearthly beauty.  The earth was full of weird flowers, star-shaped,
107:069,17['  ]| needle-pointed, fringed, scarlet, white, blue, a whole world of strange flowers.
107:069,18['  ]| Like$4$ being in$4$ a new Paradise from which$6#1$ man had not been cast out.
107:069,19['  ]| The trees in$4$ the dawn, so$5#1$ ghostly still.  The scent of blossoming eucalyptus
107:069,20['  ]| trees:  the scent of burning eucalyptus leaves and sticks in$4$ the camp fire.
107:069,21['  ]| Trailing blossoms wet with dew; the scrub after the rain; the bitter-sweet
107:069,22['  ]| fragrance of fresh-cut timber.
107:069,23['  ]| And the sounds! Magpies calling, parrots chattering, strange birds flitting
107:069,24['  ]| in$4$ the renewed stillness.  Then kangaroos calling to$4$ one another out of the
107:069,25['  ]| frail, paradisal distance.  And the birr!  of crickets in$4$ the heat of the day.  And
107:069,26['  ]| the sound of axes, the voices of men, the crash of falling timber.  The strange
107:069,27['  ]| slobbering talk of the blacks!  The mysterious night coming round the camp
107:069,28['  ]| fire.
107:069,29['  ]| Red gum everywhere!  Fringed leaves dappling, the glowing new sun
107:069,30['  ]| coming through, the large, feathery, honey-sweet blossoms flowering in$4$
107:069,31['  ]| clumps, the hard, rough-marked, red-bronze trunks rising like$4$ pillars of
107:069,32['  ]| burnt copper, or lying sadly felled, giving up$5$ the ghost.  Everywhere scattered
107:069,33['  ]| the red gum, making leaves and herbage underneath seem bestrewed
107:069,34['  ]| with blood.
107:069,35['  ]| And it was spring:  the short, swift, fierce, flower-strange spring of Western*Australia,
107:069,36['  ]| in$4$ the month of August.
107:069,37['  ]| Then evening came, and the small aromatic fire was burning amid the
107:070,01['  ]| felled trees.  Tom stood, hands on$4$ hips, giving directions, while the blackened
107:070,02['  ]| billy-can hung suspended from a cross-bar over the fire.  The water
107:070,03['  ]| bubbling, a handful of tea is thrown in$5$.  It sinks.  It rises.  
107:070,03[H  ]| "Bring it off!"  
107:070,03['  ]| yells
107:070,04['  ]| Tom.  Jack balances the cross-stick, holding the wobbling can, until it rests
107:070,05['  ]| safely on$4$ the ground.  Then snatching the handle holds the can aloft.  Tea is
107:070,06['  ]| made.
107:070,07['  ]| The clearing gang had a hut with one side for$4$ the horses, the other for$4$ the
107:070,08['  ]| men's sleeping place.  Inside were stakes driven into the ground, bearing
107:070,09['  ]| cross-bars with sacks fastened across, for$4$ beds.  On$4$ the partition-poles hung
107:070,10['  ]| the wardrobes, and in$4$ a couple of boxes lay the treasures, in$4$ shape of
107:070,11['  ]| watches, knives, razors, looking-glasses, etc%, safe from the stray thief.  But
107:070,12['  ]| the men were always tormenting one another, hiding away a razor, or a
107:070,13['  ]| strop, or a beloved watch.
107:070,14['  ]| Just in$4$ front of this shelter the camp oven had been built, for$4$ baking
107:070,15['  ]| damper and roasting meat, and to$4$ one side the well, a very important
107:070,16['  ]| necessity, built by$4$ contract, timbered, and provided with winch, rope and
107:070,17['  ]| bucket.
107:070,18['  ]| All around, the bush was dense like$4$ a forest, much denser than usual.  The
107:070,19['  ]| slim-girthed trees grew in$4$ silent array, all alike and all asleep, with under-growth
107:070,20['  ]| of scrub and fern and flowers, banksia short and sturdy with its
107:070,21['  ]| cone-shaped, red-yellow flowers like$4$ fairy lamps, and here and there a
107:070,22['  ]| perfect wattle, or mimosa tree, with its pale gold flowers like$4$ little balls of
107:070,23['  ]| sun-dust, and here and there sandal-wood trees.  Jack never forgot the
107:070,24['  ]| beauty of the first bushes and trees of mimosa, in$4$ a damp place in$4$ the wild
107:070,25['  ]| bush.  Occasionally there was still an immense karri tree, or a jarrah slightly
107:070,26['  ]| smaller, though this was not the region for$4$ these giants.
107:070,27['  ]| And far away, unending, upslope and downslope and rock-face, one far
107:070,28['  ]| unending dimness of these changeless trees, going on$5$ and on$5$ without variation,
107:070,29['  ]| open enough to$9$ let one see ahead and all around, yet dense enough to$9$
107:070,30['  ]| form a monotony and a sense of helplessness in$4$ the mind, a sense of
107:070,31['  ]| timelessness.  Strongly the gang impressed on$4$ Jack that$3$ he must not go even
107:070,32['  ]| for$4$ five minutes' walk out of sight of the clearing.  The weird silent timelessness
107:070,33['  ]| of the bush impressed him as nothing else ever did, in$4$ its motionless
107:070,34['  ]| aloofness.  
107:070,34[A  ]| "What would my father mean, out here?"  
107:070,34['  ]| he said to$4$ himself.  And
107:070,35['  ]| it seemed as if 
107:070,35@a   | his father and his father's world and his father's gods withered
107:070,36@a   | and went to$4$ dust at the thought of this bush.  
107:070,36['  ]| And when he saw one of the
107:070,37['  ]| men on$4$ a red sorrel horse galloping like$4$ a phantom away through the dim,
107:070,38['  ]| red-trunked, silent trees, followed by$4$ another man on$4$ a black horse; and
107:070,39['  ]| when he heard their far, far-off yelling Coo-ee!  or a shot as they fired at a
107:070,40['  ]| dingo or a kangaroo, he felt as if 
107:070,40@a   | the old world had given him up$5$ from the
107:070,41@a   | womb, and put him into a new weird grey-blue paradise, where man has to$9$
107:070,42@a   | begin all over again.  
107:070,42['  ]| That$6#2$ was his feeling:  that$3$ the human way of life was all to$9$
107:070,43['  ]| be begun over again.
107:070,44['  ]| The home that$6#1$ he and Tom made for$4$ themselves seemed to$9$ be a matter of
107:070,45['  ]| forked sticks.  If you wanted an upright of any sort, drive a forked stick into
107:071,01['  ]| the ground, or dig it in$5$, fork-end up$5$.  If you wanted a cross-bar, lay a stick or a
107:071,02['  ]| pole across two forks.  Down the sides of your house you wove brushwood.
107:071,03['  ]| For$4$ the roof you plaited the long, stringy strips of gum-bark.  With a couple
107:071,04['  ]| of axes and a jack-knife they built a house fit for$4$ a savage king.  Then they
107:071,05['  ]| went out and made a kitchen, with pegs hammered into the bole of a tree, for$4$
107:071,06['  ]| the frying-pans, the sawn surface of a large stump for$4$ a table, and logs to$9$ lie
107:071,07['  ]| back against.
107:071,08['  ]| North of the clearing lay the nucleus of a settlement, with pub, sawmill,
107:071,09['  ]| store, one or two homes, and a farm or two out-lying.  And as they cleared the
107:071,10['  ]| land, the teamsters carried the best of the timber on$4$ jinkers, or dragged it
107:071,11['  ]| with chains hitched to$4$ bullock or horse teams, to$4$ the mill.  But milling was
107:071,12['  ]| expensive, and most of the wood was hand-split.  Jack learned to$9$ cut palings
107:071,13['  ]| and poles, and then to$9$ split slabs that$6#1$ would serve to$9$ build slab houses, or
107:071,14['  ]| sheds.  In$4$ the spare time they would have little hunts of wallabies or bandicoots
107:071,15['  ]| or bungarras, or boody-rats; or they would snare opossums or stalk
107:071,16['  ]| dingoes.
107:071,17['  ]| But because he was really away in$4$ the wild, Jack felt he must write letters
107:071,18['  ]| home.  So$5#2$ it is.  The letters from home hardly interested him at all.  The thin
107:071,19['  ]| sheets with their interminable writing were almost repulsive to$4$ him.  He
107:071,20['  ]| would stow them in$4$ the barn and leave them for$4$ days without reading them:
107:071,21['  ]| he was "busy."  And sometimes the mice nibbled them, and in$4$ that$6#2$ way read
107:071,22['  ]| them for$4$ him.  He was a little ashamed of this indifference.  But he noticed
107:071,23['  ]| other men were the same.  When they got these endless thin sheets from 
107:071,24['  ]| home, covered with ink of words, they stowed them away in$4$ a kind of nausea,
107:071,25['  ]| without reading more than a few lines.  And the people at home had such a
107:071,26['  ]| pitying admonishing tone:  like$4$ the young naval lieutenant who$6#1$ made friends
107:071,27['  ]| with the black aborigines by$4$ promptly shaving them.  And then letters were
107:071,28['  ]| not profitable.  A stamp home cost sixpence, and a letter took about two
107:071,29['  ]| months on$4$ the way.  It was always four months before you got an answer.  And
107:071,30['  ]| after you had written to$4$ your mother about something really important ~~ like$4$
107:071,31['  ]| money ~~ and waited impatiently several months for$4$ the answer, when it
107:071,32['  ]| came it never mentioned the money and made a mountain of a cold in$4$ your
107:071,33['  ]| head which$6#1$ you could not remember having had.  
107:071,33@a   | What was the good of 
107:071,34@a   | people at home writing:  
107:071,34@x   | "We are having true November weather, very cold,
107:071,35@x   | with fog and sleet," 
107:071,35@a   | when you are were grilling under fierce sun and the rush of
107:071,36@a   | the intense antipodal summer.  What was the good of it all?  All dull as
107:071,37@a   | ditchwater, and no$2$ use to$4$ anybody.  
107:071,37['  ]| He had promised his mother he would
107:071,38['  ]| write once a week.  And his mother was his mother, he wanted to$9$ keep his
107:071,39['  ]| promise.  Which$6#1$ he did for$4$ a month.  But in$4$ camp, he did not even know what
107:071,40['  ]| day it was, hardly what month:  though the mail did come once a fortnight,
107:071,41['  ]| via the sawmill.  He took out his mother's letter.  
107:071,41@v   | "You said in$4$ your letter from
107:071,42@v   | Colombo that$3$ you were sneezing.  Do take care in$4$ Australia in$4$ the rainy
107:071,43@v   | season.  Ask not to$9$ be sent out in$4$ the rain.  I recollect the climate, always sunny
107:071,44@v   | and bright between showers.  That$6#2$ is what we miss so$5#1$ much now we are back
107:071,45@v   | in$4$ England, the sunny skies.  Of course, I do not want you to$9$ be a mollycoddle,
107:072,01@v   | but I know the climate of Western*Australia, it is very trying, particularly
107:072,02@v   | so$5#2$ in$4$ the rainy season.  I do hope and pray you are on$4$ a good station with a
107:072,03@v   | good woman who$6#1$ will$1$ see you are not out getting drenched in$4$ those cold
107:072,04@v   | downpours ~~ "
107:072,05['  ]| Jack groaned aloud, astonished that$3$ his mother had got so$5#1$ far from her
107:072,06['  ]| own early days.  
107:072,06@a   | How in$4$ the name of heaven had he come to$9$ mention
107:072,07@a   | sneezing?  Never again.  He would not even say he was camping.
107:072,08[A  ]| "Dear Mother,
107:072,09[A  ]| I am quite well and like$1$ farming out here all right.  Old Mrs*Ellis knew
107:072,10[A  ]| your father.  She says he cut off her leg.  I hope Father has got rid of his Liver,
107:072,11[A  ]| you said he was taking variolettes for$4$ it.  I hope they have done him good.  Mr*Ellis
107:072,12[A  ]| says a cockles pill and a ten-mile walk will$1$ cure anything.  He says it
107:072,13[A  ]| would cure a pig's liver.  But when old Tim, the half-caste, tried to$9$ swallow
107:072,14[A  ]| the pill it came out of the gap where his front tooth used to$9$ be, so$3$ Mrs*Ellis
107:072,15[A  ]| gave him a teaspoonful of sulphur, which$6#1$ he said would make him blow up$5$.
107:072,16[A  ]| But it did not.  I think I was more likely to$9$ blow up$5$ because she gave me a big
107:072,17[A  ]| teaspoon of paraffin which$6#1$ they call kerosene out here.  She is a fine doctor,
107:072,18[A  ]| far better than the medical man who$6#1$ lodges here, whose name is Rackett.
107:072,19[A  ]| I hope you are quite well.  Give my love to$4$ all my aunts and sister and
107:072,20[A  ]| father.  I hope they are all quite well ~~ "
107:072,21['  ]| Jack hurried this letter in$4$ confusion into its envelope, and spent sixpence
107:072,22['  ]| on$4$ it, knowing perfectly well it was all nonsense.
107:072,00[U  ]| <ii>
107:072,23['  ]| There was a pause in$4$ the clearing work, after the early hot spell, and word
107:072,24['  ]| from Lennie that$3$ there was to$9$ be a kangaroo hunt, and they were to$9$ come
107:072,25['  ]| down.  An old man kangaroo, a king of boomers, had been seen around,
107:072,26['  ]| hoof-marks, and paw-pad trails near the pool.
107:072,27['  ]| They met at dawn, by$4$ the well:  Easu with two kangaroo hounds, like$4$
107:072,28['  ]| greyhounds, on$4$ leash; Lennie peacocking on$4$ an enormous hairy-heeled
107:072,29['  ]| roadster; a "superior" young Queenslander who$6#1$ had been sent west because
107:072,30['  ]| his father found him unmanageable and who$6#1$ was not a bad sort, though his
107:072,31['  ]| nickname was Pink-eye*Percy; Lennie's "Cornseed" friend, Joe*Low; Alec*Rice,
107:072,32['  ]| the yound fellow who$6#1$ was courting Grace; Ross*Ellis, and Herbert, who$6#1$
107:072,33['  ]| was well again, then Tom on$4$ a grey stallion; and Jack, in$4$ riding breeches and
107:072,34['  ]| gaiters and clean shirt, astride the famous Lucy.
107:072,35['  ]| Easu was born in$4$ the saddle, he rode easy on$4$ his big roan.  He waved his hat
107:072,36['  ]| excitedly at the group, and led off into the scrub, through the slender,
107:072,37['  ]| white-barked trees of the open bush.  The others rode fast in$4$ ragged order,
107:072,38['  ]| among the thin, open trees.  Jack let Lucy pick her way, sometimes ahead,
107:072,39['  ]| sometimes in$4$ sight of the others.  They rode in$4$ silence.
107:072,40['  ]| Then they came out unexpectedly into low, grey-green scrub without
107:072,41['  ]| trees, and crisp grey-white soil that$6#1$ crumbled under the hoofs of the horses.
107:073,01['  ]| There they were, all out in$4$ the blue and gold light, with billows of blue-green
107:073,02['  ]| scrub running away to$4$ the right and left, towards a rise in$4$ front.
107:073,03[N  ]| "Hold hard there!"  
107:073,03['  ]| sang out Easu, holding up$5$ the whip in$4$ his right hand.
107:073,04['  ]| He held the reins loosely in$4$ his left, and with the reins, the leash on$4$ which$6#1$ the
107:073,05['  ]| dogs were pulling.  Dogs and horse he held in$4$ that$6#2$ left hand.
107:073,06[N  ]| "I want you to$9$ divide.  Tom, you lead on$4$ a zigzag course down north.  Ross, you
107:073,07[N  ]| work south.  And this ~~ this fox-hunting gentleman ~~ " 
107:073,07['  ]| he paused, and Jack
107:073,08['  ]| felt himself going scarlet.
107:073,09[J  ]| "Says thank you, and hopes he is a gentleman, since you have mentioned it," 
107:073,09['  ]| put in$5$
107:073,10['  ]| Lennie, in$4$ his mild, inconsequential way.
107:073,11['  ]| There was a laugh against Red:  for$3$ there was no$2$ mistaking \him\ for$4$ a
107:073,12['  ]| gentleman, in$4$ any sense of the word.  However, he was too much excited by$4$
107:073,13['  ]| the hunt to$9$ persevere.
107:073,14['  ]| The fellows were stowing away their pipes in$4$ their pockets, and buttoning
107:073,15['  ]| their coats, ready for$4$ the dash.  Easu, thrilled by$4$ his own unquestioned
107:073,16['  ]| leadership, gave the orders.  All listened closely.
107:073,17[N  ]| "Call up$5$!  Call up$5$!  Follow my leader and find the trail.  Biggest boomer ever
107:073,18[N  ]| you ~~ "
107:073,19[H  ]| "Come!"  
107:073,19['  ]| cried Tom.
107:073,20[J  ]| "And I am here!"  
107:073,20['  ]| cried Lennie.
107:073,21['  ]| Away they went into the gully and through the scrub, riding light but swift,
107:073,22['  ]| in$4$ different directions.
107:073,23[H  ]| "Let go the mare's head," 
107:073,23['  ]| yelled Tom over his shoulder.  
107:073,23[H  ]| "We are coming to$4$
107:073,24[H  ]| timber, and she had best pilot herself."
107:073,25[A  ]| "Right!"  
107:073,25['  ]| cried Jack.
107:073,26[J  ]| "Do not you kill Lucy," 
107:073,26['  ]| shrieked Lennie.  
107:073,26[J  ]| "Because me heart is set on$4$ her.
107:073,27[J  ]| Keep your hands and your heel off your horse, and your head on$4$ your shoulders."
107:073,28['  ]| The bolt of horsemen through the bush sent parrots screaming savagely
107:073,29['  ]| over the feathery tree-tops.  Jack let Lucy have her way.  She was light and
107:073,30['  ]| swift and sure-footed, old steeple-chaser that$6#1$ she was.  The slim straight trees
107:073,31['  ]| slipped past, the motion of the horse surging her own way was exhilarating
107:073,32['  ]| to$4$ a degree.
107:073,33['  ]| But Tom had heard something:  not the parrots, not the soft thud of the
107:073,34['  ]| following horses.  He must have heard with his sixth sense:  perhaps the
107:073,35['  ]| warning call of the boomer.  With face set and eyes burning he swung and
107:073,36['  ]| urged his horse in$4$ a new direction.  And like$4$ men coming in$5$ to$4$ supper from
107:073,37['  ]| different directions, the handful of horsemen came swish-swish through the
107:073,38['  ]| scrub, toward a centre.
107:073,39['  ]| Lucy pricked one ear.  Perhaps she too had heard something.  Then she
107:073,40['  ]| gathers herself together and goes like$4$ the wind after the twinkling grey
107:073,41['  ]| quarters of Tom's stallion.  Her excitement mounts to$4$ Jack's head, and he
107:073,42['  ]| rides like$4$ a projectile on$4$ the wind.
107:073,43['  ]| Again Tom was reining in$5$, pulling his horse almost on$5$ to$4$ its haunches.
107:073,44['  ]| And Jack must hold like$4$ a vise with his knees, for$3$ Lucy was pawing the air,
107:073,45['  ]| frantic at being held up$5$.
107:074,01[H  ]| "Coo-ee!"  
107:074,01['  ]| came Tom's clear tenor, ringing through the bush.  
107:074,01[H  ]| "Coo-ee!
107:074,02[H  ]| Coo-ee!  Coo-ee!"  
107:074,02['  ]| A marvellous sound, and Lucy pawing and dancing among
107:074,03['  ]| the scrub.
107:074,04[H  ]| "Coo-ee!  Coo-ee!  Coo-ee!"
107:074,05['  ]| It seemed to$4$ Jack 
107:074,05@a   | this sound in$4$ the bush was like$4$ God.  Like$4$ the call of the
107:074,06@a   | heroic soul seeking its body.  Like$4$ the call of the bodiless soul, sounding
107:074,07@a   | through the immense dead spaces of the dim, open bush, strange and heroic
107:074,08@a   | and inhuman.  The deep long "coo" mastering the silence, the high summons
107:074,09@a   | of the long "eee."  The "coo" rising more imperious, and then the "eee!"
107:074,10@a   | thrilling and holding aloft.  Then the swift lift and fall:  "Coo-eee!  Coo-eee!
107:074,11@a   | Coo-eee!"  till the air rocks with the fierce pulse, as if a new heart were in$4$
107:074,12@a   | motion, and the shriek and scream of the "eee!"  rips in$4$ strange flashes into
107:074,13@a   | the far-off, far-off consciousness.
107:074,14@a   | Much stranger than the weird yelp of the Red*Indians' war-cry was this
107:074,15@a   | rocking, ripping noise in$4$ the vast grey bush.
107:074,16['  ]| The others were coming in$5$ from right and left, like$4$ silent phantoms
107:074,17['  ]| through the sunny evanescence of the bush, riding hard.  Tom is displaced by$4$
107:074,18['  ]| Red.  A few quick words given and taken.  Easu has unleashed the dogs,
107:074,19['  ]| slashed the long lash with a resounding crack in$4$ the air.  The long lean dogs
107:074,20['  ]| stretch out ~~ uncannily long, from tip to$4$ tip.  Tom lets go and away.  Jack lets
107:074,21['  ]| go and away, and unconsciously his hand goes down from the bow of the
107:074,22['  ]| slippery saddle.
107:074,23['  ]| Lucy had the situation well in$4$ hand, which$6#1$ was more than Jack had.
107:074,24['  ]| Thud-thud.  Thud-thud.  Thud-thud!  Up$5$, fly!  \Crash\!  ~~ 
107:074,24@a   | Hello? ~~ All right.  A
107:074,25@a   | beauty!  a dream of a jumper, this Lucy.  
107:074,25['  ]| But Jack wished his seat were not so$5#1$
107:074,26['  ]| slippery.
107:074,27['  ]| They were turning into bigger timber:  trees further apart, but much
107:074,28['  ]| bigger, and with hanging limbs.  
107:074,28[X  ]| "Look out!  Look out for$4$ your head!"  
107:074,28['  ]| Jack kept all
107:074,29['  ]| his eyes open, till he knew by$4$ second sight when to$9$ duck.  He watched the
107:074,30['  ]| twinkling hind quarters of Tom's grey, among the trees.
107:074,31['  ]| There was a short yapping of the dogs.  Lucy was going like$4$ the wind.  Jack
107:074,32['  ]| was riding light, but she was beginning to$9$ breathe heavily.  No$2$ longer so$5#1$
107:074,33['  ]| young as she was.  
107:074,33@a   | How hot the sun was, in$4$ the almost shadeless bush.  And
107:074,34@a   | what was leading, where was the 'roo?  
107:074,34['  ]| Jack strained his eyes almost out of his
107:074,35['  ]| head, but could see nothing.
107:074,36['  ]| They were on$4$ the edge of the hills, and the country changed continually.
107:074,37@a   | No$2$ sooner were you used to$4$ scrub than it was thin trees.  No$2$ sooner did you
107:074,38@a   | know that$3$ Lucy could manipulate thin trees, than you were among big
107:074,39@a   | timber, with more space and dangerous boughs.  Then it was salty paper-bark
107:074,40@a   | country ~~ and back to$4$ forest again:  close trees, fallen logs, boody-rat
107:074,41@a   | holes and sudden out-cropping of dark-brown, ancient-looking rocks with
107:074,42@a   | little flat crags, to$9$ be avoided.  But the other men were going full speed, and
107:074,43@a   | full speed you must follow, watching with all your eyes, and riding light, and
107:074,44@a   | swept along in$4$ the run.
107:074,45@a   | Up$5$!  That$6#2$ was over an elephant log, and down went a man at Tom's heels.
107:075,01@a   | It was Grace's young man.  No$2$ matter.  
107:075,01['  ]| Jack was going to$9$ look over his
107:075,02['  ]| shoulder when Tom again shouted 
107:075,02[H  ]| "Up$5$!", 
107:075,02['  ]| and Jack and Lennie followed
107:075,03['  ]| over the fallen timber.
107:075,04['  ]| Suddenly they were in$4$ a great black blanket of burnt country, clear of
107:075,05['  ]| undergrowth or scrub, with skeletons of black, charred trees standing gruesome.
107:075,06['  ]| And there, right under their noses, leapt three kangaroos, swerving
107:075,07['  ]| across.  The baby one, Joey, was first, lithe, light, apparently not a bit afraid,
107:075,08['  ]| but wildly excited; then the mother doe, all out, panting, anxious-eyed,
107:075,09['  ]| stiffly jumping; and behind, a long way, with the dogs like$4$ needles coming
107:075,10['  ]| after, ran the Old*Man boomer; a great big chap making mighty springs and
107:075,11['  ]| in$4$ varying directions.  Yes, he was making a rear-guard action for$4$ the safety
107:075,12['  ]| of his mate and spawn.  Leaping with great leaps, as if to$4$ the end of the world,
107:075,13['  ]| leaning forward, his little hands curled in$5$, his immense massive tail straight
107:075,14['  ]| out behind him like$4$ some immense living rudder.  And seeming perfectly
107:075,15['  ]| calm, almost indifferent.  With steady, easy, enormous springs he went this
107:075,16['  ]| way, that$6#2$ way, detouring, but making for$4$ the same ridge his doe and joey
107:075,17['  ]| had passed.
107:075,18['  ]| The charred ground proved treacherous, holes, smouldering trunks of
107:075,19['  ]| trees, smouldering hollows where trunks had been.  Soon two horses were
107:075,20['  ]| running loose, with men limping after them.  But on$5$ went the rest.  Thud and
107:075,21['  ]| crackle went the hoofs of the galloping horses in$4$ the charcoal, as after the
107:075,22['  ]| dogs, after the 'roos they followed, kicking up$5$ clouds of grey ash-mounds
107:075,23['  ]| and red-burnt earth, jumping suddenly over the still-glowing logs.
107:075,24['  ]| The chase paused on$4$ the ridge, for$3$ the drop was sudden and steep, with
107:075,25['  ]| rocks and boulders cropping out.  Down slid the dogs in$4$ a cloud, yelping
107:075,26['  ]| hard, making Easu at all costs turn to$9$ try the right, Tom to$9$ try the left.
107:075,27['  ]| They dropped awkwardly and joltingly down, between rocks, in$4$ loose
107:075,28['  ]| charcoal powder and loose earth.
107:075,29[H  ]| "Is not that$6#2$ ole mare a marvel, Jack!"  
107:075,29['  ]| said Tom.  
107:075,29[H  ]| "This nag is rode stiff,
107:075,30[H  ]| all-under my knees."
107:075,31['  ]| Jack's face was full of wild joy.  The stones rattled, the men stood back from
107:075,32['  ]| the stirrups, the horses seemed to$9$ be diving.  But Lucy was light and sure.
107:075,33['  ]| Down they jolted into the gully.  Easu came up$5$ swearing ~~ lost the quarry
107:075,34['  ]| and dogs, Jack pulled Lucy over a boulder to$9$ get out of Easu's way:  a thing he
107:075,35['  ]| should not have done.  Crack!  went his head against a branch, and Jack was
107:075,36['  ]| bruising himself on$4$ the ground before he knew where he was.
107:075,37['  ]| But he was on$4$ his feet again, intently chasing Lucy.
107:075,38[P  ]| "Here you are!"  
107:075,38['  ]| It was Herbert who$6#1$ leaned down, picked up$5$ the reins of the
107:075,39['  ]| scampering mare, and threw them to$4$ Jack.  Jack's face was bleeding.  Lennie
107:075,40['  ]| came up$5$ and opened his mouth in$4$ dismay.  But somebody coo-eed, and the
107:075,41['  ]| chase was too good to$9$ lose.  They are all gone.
107:075,42['  ]| Jack stiffly mounted, to$9$ find himself blinded by$4$ trickling blood.  Lucy once
107:075,43['  ]| more was stirring between his knees, stretching herself out, and he had to$9$ let
107:075,44['  ]| her go, fumbling meanwhile for$4$ a handkerchief which$6#1$ he pushed under his
107:075,45['  ]| hat-brim, and pulled down the old felt firmly.  Wiping his eyes with his sleeve,
107:076,01['  ]| he found the wound staunched by$4$ the impromptu dressing.
107:076,02['  ]| The scene had completely changed.  Lucy was whisking him around the
107:076,03['  ]| side of a huge dark boulder.  They were in$4$ the dry bed of the gully, on$4$ stones.
107:076,04['  ]| Lucy stopped dead, practically on$4$ her haunches, but her impetus carried
107:076,05['  ]| her over, and she was slithering down into a loose gravelly hole.  Jack jumped
107:076,06['  ]| off, to$9$ find himself face to$4$ face with the biggest boomer kangaroo he had
107:076,07['  ]| ever imagined.  It was the Old*Man, sitting there at the bottom of the
107:076,08['  ]| gravel-hole, in$4$ the hollow of a barren she-oak, his absurd paws drooping
107:076,09['  ]| dejectedly before him and his silly dribbling under-jaw working miserably.
107:076,10@a   | "He is trying to$9$ get the wind up$5$ for$4$ another fly," 
107:076,10['  ]| thought Jack, standing
107:076,11['  ]| there as dazed as the 'roo itself, and feeling himself very much in$4$ the same
107:076,12['  ]| condition.  Then he wondered where the doe and Joey were, and where were
107:076,13['  ]| all the other hunters.  He hoped they would not come.  Lucy stood by$5$, as calm
107:076,14['  ]| as a cucumber.
107:076,15['  ]| Jack took a step nearer the Old*Man 'roo, and instantly brought up$5$ his fists
107:076,16['  ]| as the animal doubled its queer front paws and hit out wildly at him.  He
107:076,17['  ]| wanted to$9$ hit back.
107:076,18[J  ]| "Mind the claws!"  
107:076,18['  ]| called somebody, with a quiet chuckle, from above.
107:076,19['  ]| Jack looked round, and there was Lennie and the heavy horse, the horse
107:076,20['  ]| head-down, tail up$5$, feet spread, like$4$ a salamander lizard on$4$ a wall, slithering
107:076,21['  ]| down the grade into the hole, Lennie erect in$4$ the stirrups.  Jack gave a loud
107:076,22['  ]| laugh.
107:076,23['  ]| And the Old*Man, either possessed of a sense of humour or terrified to$4$
107:076,24['  ]| death, seized the nearest thing at hand ~~ which$6#1$ happened to$9$ be Jack; grabbed
107:076,25['  ]| him, gripped him, hugged him in$4$ desperate fury, and tried to$9$ get up$5$ his
107:076,26['  ]| huge, flail-like hind leg, to$9$ rip up$5$ the enemy with the toe claw.  One stroke of
107:076,27['  ]| that$6#2$ claw, and Jack was done.
107:076,28['  ]| In$4$ terror, anger, surprise, Jack jumped at the kangaroo's throat, as far as
107:076,29['  ]| the animal's grip would let him.  The 'roo, trying all the time to$9$ use his hind
107:076,30['  ]| legs, upset, so$3$ that$3$ the two went rolling on$4$ the gravel together.  Jack was in$4$
107:076,31['  ]| horrid proximity to$4$ the weird grey fur, clutched by$4$ the weird-smelling,
107:076,32['  ]| violent animal, in$4$ a sort of living earthquake, as the kangaroo writhed and
107:076,33['  ]| bounced to$9$ use his great, oar-like hind legs, and Jack clung close and hit at
107:076,34['  ]| the creature's body, hit, hit, hit.  
107:076,34@a   | It was like$4$ hitting living wire bands.  Somebody
107:076,35@a   | was roaring, or else it was his own consciousness shouting:  "Do not let
107:076,36@a   | the hind claw get to$9$ work."  How horrible a wild thing was, when you were
107:076,37@a   | mixed up$5$ with it!  The terrible nausea of its powerful, furry, violent-blooded
107:076,38@a   | contact.  Its unnatural, almost obscene power!  Its different consciousness!  Its
107:076,39@a   | overpowering smell!
107:076,40['  ]| The others were coming back up$4$ the stream-bed, jumping the rocks,
107:076,41['  ]| towards this place where Jack had fallen and Lennie had come down after
107:076,42['  ]| him.  Easu was calling off the dogs, ferociously.  Tom rushed in$5$ and got the
107:076,43['  ]| 'roo by$4$ the head.
107:076,44['  ]| Lennie was lying on$4$ the gravel laughing so$5#1$ hard he could not stand on$4$ his 
107:076,45['  ]| legs.
107:077,00[U  ]| <iii>
107:077,01['  ]| Jack wrote a letter to$4$ his old friend, the vet% with the "weakness," in$4$ England.
107:077,02[A  ]| "We are out at a place back of beyond, at a place called Gum*Tree*Valley,
107:077,03[A  ]| so$3$ I take up$5$ my pen to$9$ write as I have time.  Tom*Ellis is here bossing the
107:077,04[A  ]| clearing gang, and he has a lot of aunts, whom he rightly calls ants.  One of
107:077,05[A  ]| them has a place near here, and we go to$4$ dinner on$4$ Sundays, and to$9$ help
107:077,06[A  ]| when wanted.  We stayed all last week and helped muster in$5$ the sheep for$4$ the
107:077,07[A  ]| shearing.  We rode all round their paddock boundaries and rounded in$5$ the
107:077,08[A  ]| sheep that$6#1$ had strayed and got lost.  They had run off from the main ~~ about
107:077,09[A  ]| a score of flocks ~~ and were feeding in$4$ little herds and groups miles apart.  It is
107:077,10[A  ]| a grand sight to$9$ see them all running before you, their woolly backs bobbing
107:077,11[A  ]| up$5$ and down like$4$ brown water.  I can tell you I know now the meaning of the
107:077,12[A  ]| Lost*Sheep, and the sort of joy you have in$4$ cursing him when you find him.
107:077,13[A  ]| You told me to$9$ let you know if I heard any first-hand news of gold
107:077,14[A  ]| finding.  Well, I have not heard much.  But a man rode into Greenlow's ~~ that$6#2$ is
107:077,15[A  ]| Tom's aunt ~~ place on$4$ Sunday, and he said to$4$ Tom:  
107:077,15@w   | ""Are those the Stirling*Ranges?""
107:077,16[A  ]| Tom said:  
107:077,16@h   | ""No$7$, they are not.  They are the Darling*Ranges."" 
107:077,16[A  ]| He said:
107:077,17@w   | ""Are you sure?"" ~~ 
107:077,17[A  ]| and got very excited.  The black-fellows came and stood by$5$
107:077,18[A  ]| and they were vastly amused, grinning and looking away.  He got out a
107:077,19[A  ]| compass and said:  
107:077,19@w   | ""You are wrong, Mr%*Ellis, they are the Stirling*Ranges.""
107:077,20[A  ]| Tom said:  
107:077,20@h   | ""Call them what you choose, chum.  We call them Darling ~~ and them
107:077,21@h   | others forty mile south-west we call the Stirling.""  
107:077,21[A  ]| The man groaned.  Minnie*Greenlow
107:077,22[A  ]| called us to$9$ come in$5$ to$4$ tea, and he came along as well.  His manners
107:077,23[A  ]| were awful.  He fidgetted and pushed his hat back on$4$ his head and leant
107:077,24[A  ]| forward and spat in$4$ the fire at a long shot, and tipped his cup so$3$ that$3$ his tea
107:077,25[A  ]| swobbed in$4$ his saucer, then drank it out of the saucer.  Then he pushed the
107:077,26[A  ]| cake back when handed to$4$ him, and leaned his head on$4$ his arms on$4$ the table
107:077,27[A  ]| and groaned.  You would have thought he was drunk, but he was not, because he
107:077,28[A  ]| said to$4$ Tom:  
107:077,28@w   | ""Are you sure them's not the Stirling*Ranges?  I can not drink my tea
107:077,29@w   | for$4$ thinkin' about it.""  
107:077,29[A  ]| And Tom said:  
107:077,29@h   | ""Sure"" ~~ 
107:077,29[A  ]| and then he seemed more
107:077,30[A  ]| distracted than ever, and blew through his teeth and mopped his head, and
107:077,31[A  ]| was upset to$4$ a degree.
107:077,32[A  ]| When he had finished tea and we all went outside he said:  
107:077,32@w   | ""Well, I think
107:077,33@w   | I will$1$ get back now.  It is no$2$ use when the compass turns you down.  I will$1$ never find
107:077,34@w   | it.""  
107:077,34[A  ]| We did not know what he was talking about, but when he had got into his
107:077,35[A  ]| buggy and drove away the blacks told us:  
107:077,35@w   | ""Master lookin' for$4$ big lump yellow
107:077,36@w   | dirt.  He think that$6#2$ very big fish, and he bury him longa time.  Comin' back no$2$
107:077,37@w   | finda him.""  
107:077,37[A  ]| While the boys were talking, who$6#2$ should shout to$9$ have the slip rail
107:077,38[A  ]| let down but this same stranger, and he drove right past us and away down
107:077,39[A  ]| the long paddock.  When he got to$4$ the gate he turned round and came back
107:077,40[A  ]| and drew up$5$ by$4$ us muttering, and said:  
107:077,40@w   | ""Where did you tell me the Stirling*Ranges
107:077,41@w   | were?"" 
107:077,41[A  ]| Tom pointed it out, and he said:  
107:077,41@w   | ""So$5#1$ long!""  
107:077,41[A  ]| and drove off.  We
107:077,42[A  ]| did not see him again.  We did not want to$9$.  But Tom is almost sure he found a
107:077,43[A  ]| lump of gold some time back and buried it for$4$ safety's sake and now can not
107:078,01[A  ]| find it.
107:078,02[A  ]| That$6#2$ is all the gold I have heard about out here.
107:078,03[A  ]| Now for$4$ news.  One day I went out with tucker to$4$ old Jack*Moss.  He is
107:078,04[A  ]| keeping a bit of land warm for$4$ the Greenlows, shepherds sheep down there,
107:078,05[A  ]| about forty miles from everywhere.  He talked and talked, and when he
107:078,06[A  ]| did not talk he did not listen to$4$ me.  He looked away over the scrub and sucked
107:078,07[A  ]| his cutty.  They say he has hoarded wealth but I did not see any signs.  He was in$4$
107:078,08[A  ]| tatters and wore rags round his feet for$4$ boots, which$6#1$ were like$4$ a gorilla's.
107:078,09[A  ]| Another day we had a kangaroo hunt.  We all chased an Old*Man for$4$ miles
107:078,10[A  ]| and at last he turned and faced us.  I was so$5#1$ close I had no$2$ time to$9$ think and
107:078,11[A  ]| was on$4$ him before I had time to$9$ pull up$5$.  I jumped to$4$ the ground and
107:078,12[A  ]| grappled, and we rolled over and over down the gully.  They could not shoot
107:078,13[A  ]| him because of me, but they fought him off and killed him.  And then we saw
107:078,14[A  ]| his mate standing near among the stones, on$4$ her hind legs, with her front
107:078,15[A  ]| paws hanging like$4$ a helpless woman.  Then Tom, who$6#1$ was tying up$5$ my cuts,
107:078,16[A  ]| called out:  
107:078,16@h   | ""Look at her pouch!  It is plum full of little nippers!""  
107:078,16[A  ]| and so$5#2$ it was.
107:078,17[A  ]| You never saw such a trick.  So$3$ we let her go.  But we got the Old*Man.
107:078,18[A  ]| Another day we rode round the surveyed area here, which$6#1$ Mr*Ellis is
107:078,19[A  ]| taking up$5$ for$4$ the twins Og and Magog.  I asked Tom a lot of questions about
107:078,20[A  ]| taking up$5$ land.  I think I should like$1$ to$9$ try.  Perhaps if I do you will$1$ come out.
107:078,21[A  ]| You would like$1$ the horses.  There are quite a lot wild.  We hunt them in$5$ and
107:078,22[A  ]| pick out the best and use them.  That$6#2$ is how lots of people raise their horse-flesh.
107:078,23[A  ]| They are called brumbies.  Excuse me for$4$ not ending properly, the
107:078,24[A  ]| mailman is coming along, he comes once a fortnight.  We are lucky.
107:078,25[A  ]| JACK."
107:078,00[U  ]| <iv>
107:078,26['  ]| To$4$ his friend the pugilist, he wrote:
107:078,27[A  ]| "Dear Pug,
107:078,28[A  ]| You ask me what I think about sending Ned out here.  Well, there is no$2$
107:078,29[A  ]| opening that$6#1$ I can see for$4$ a gym.  But work, that$6#2$ is another question, there is
107:078,30[A  ]| more than enough.  I am at work at a place called Gum*Tree*Valley, clearing,
107:078,31[A  ]| but we came up$5$ to$4$ Tom's Aunt's place last week, to$9$ help, and we have been
107:078,32[A  ]| shearing.  At least I have not.  I have been the chap who$6#1$ tars.  You splash tar on$5$
107:078,33[A  ]| like$4$ paint when the shearers make a mis-fire and gash the poor brutes and
107:078,34[A  ]| curse \you\.  Lord, do not they curse, if the boss is not round.  He has got a grey beard
107:078,35[A  ]| and dribbles on$4$ it, and the flies get caught in$4$ it and buzz as if it was a spider's
107:078,36[A  ]| web.  He makes everyone work from morn till night like$4$ the Devil.  Gosh, if it
107:078,37[A  ]| was not that$3$ it is only for$4$ a short spell, I would \get\.  Do not you worry, up-country folk
107:078,38[A  ]| know how to$9$ get your tucker's work out of you all right.  To-day, the
107:078,39[A  ]| Sabbath, we had a rest.  I do not think!  We washed our clothes.  Talk about a
107:078,40[A  ]| goodly pile!  Only a rumour.  For$3$ the old man fetched along his vests and
107:078,41[A  ]| pants, and greasy overalls and aprons, his socks, his slimy hanks and night-shirt.
107:079,01[A  ]| Imagine our horror.  He is Tom's Aunt's husband, and has no$2$ sons, only
107:079,02[A  ]| herds of daughters, so$3$ we had to$9$ do it.  We scrubbed them with horse-brushes
107:079,03[A  ]| on$4$ the stones.  Jinks, but I rubbed some holes in$4$ them!
107:079,04[A  ]| But cheer up$5$.  I am not grumbling.  I like$1$ getting experience as it is called.
107:079,05[A  ]| I mean to$9$ take up$5$ land and have a place of my own some day, then you
107:079,06[A  ]| and Ned could visit me and we could have some fun with the gloves.  Lennie
107:079,07[A  ]| says I am like$4$ a kangaroo shaping and punching at nothing, so$3$ I got a cow's
107:079,08[A  ]| bladder and blew it up$5$ and tied it to$4$ a branch, and I batter on$4$ it.  Must have
107:079,09[A  ]| something to$9$ hit.  You know kangaroos shape up$5$ and make a punch.  They
107:079,10[A  ]| are pretty doing that$6#2$.  We have a baby one, Joey, and it takes a cup in$4$ its little
107:079,11[A  ]| hands and drinks.  Honest to$4$ God's it has got \hands\, you never saw such a thing.
107:079,12[A  ]| Kindest regards to$4$ your old woman and Ned.  Lord only knows how I have
107:079,13[A  ]| missed you, and pray that$3$ some day I will$1$ be fortunate enough to$9$ meet you
107:079,14[A  ]| again.  Until then
107:079,15[A  ]| Farewell.
107:079,16[A  ]| A Merry Xmas and a Glad New*Year, by$4$ the time you get this.  Think of
107:079,17[A  ]| me in$4$ the broiling heat battling with sheep, their Boss and the flies, and
107:079,18[A  ]| you will$1$ think of me true.
107:079,19[A  ]| Ever your sincere friend,
107:079,20[A  ]| JACK."
107:079,00[U  ]| <v>
107:079,21['  ]| As the time for$4$ returning home from camp drew near, Jack dwelt more and more
107:079,22['  ]| on$4$ this question of the future ~~ of taking up$5$ land.  He wished so$5#1$ often that$3$ life
107:079,23['  ]| could always be a matter of camping, land-clearing, kangaroo hunting,
107:079,24['  ]| shearing, and generally messing about.  But deep underneath himself he
107:079,25['  ]| knew 
107:079,25@a   | it could not:  not for$4$ him at least.  Plenty of fellows lived all their life
107:079,26@a   | messing from camp to$4$ camp and station to$4$ station.  But himself ~~ sooner or
107:079,27@a   | later he would have to$9$ bite on$5$ to$4$ something.  He would have to$9$ plunge into that$6#2$
107:079,28@a   | cold water of responsible living, some time or other.
107:079,29['  ]| He asked Tom about it.
107:079,30[H  ]| "You must make up$5$ your mind what you want to$9$ go in$5$ for$4$, cattle, sheep,
107:079,31[H  ]| horses, wheat, or mixed farming like$4$ us," 
107:079,31['  ]| said Tom.  
107:079,31[H  ]| "Then you can go out to$9$
107:079,32[H  ]| select.  But it is no$2$ good before you know what you want."
107:079,33['  ]| Jack was surprised to$9$ find how little information he got from the men he
107:079,34['  ]| mixed with.  They knew their jobs:  teamsters knew about teams, and jobs on$4$
107:079,35['  ]| the mill; the timber workers knew hauling and sawing; township people
107:079,36['  ]| knew trading; the general hands knew about hunting and bush-craft and axe
107:079,37['  ]| handling; and farmers knew what was under their nose, but nothing of the
107:079,38['  ]| laws of the land, or how he himself was to$9$ get a start.
107:079,39['  ]| At last he found a small holder who$6#1$ went out as a hired man after he had
107:079,40['  ]| put in$5$ the seed on$4$ his own land.  And this, apparently, was how Jack would
107:079,41['  ]| have to$9$ start.  The man brought out various grubby Government papers, and
107:079,42['  ]| handed them over.
107:080,01['  ]| Jack had a bad time with them:  Government reports, blue books, narratives
107:080,02['  ]| of operations.  But he swotted grimly.  And he made out so$5#1$ much:
107:080,03['  ]| 1.  Any reputable immigrant over 21 years could procure fifty acres of
107:080,04['  ]| unimproved rural Crown land open for$4$ selection; if between the ages of 14
107:080,05['  ]| 21, twenty-five acres.
107:080,06['  ]| 2.  Such land must be held by$4$ "occupation*certificate," deemed transferable
107:080,07['  ]| only in$4$ case of death, etc%
107:080,08['  ]| 3.  The occupation*certificate would be exchanged for$4$ a grant at the end
107:080,09['  ]| of five years, or before that$6#2$ time, providing the land had been enclosed with
107:080,10['  ]| a substantial fence and at least a quarter cultivated.  But if at the end of the
107:080,11['  ]| five years the above conditions, or any of them, had not been observed, the
107:080,12['  ]| lots should revert to$4$ the Crown.
107:080,13['  ]| 4.  Country land was sub-divided into agricultural and pastoral, either
107:080,14['  ]| purchasable at the sum of 10s% an acre, or leased:  the former for$4$ eight years
107:080,15['  ]| at the nominal sum of 1s% an acre, with the right of purchase, the latter for$4$
107:080,16['  ]| one year at annual rental of 2s% per hundred acres, with presumptive renewal:
107:080,17['  ]| or five pounds per 1000 acres with rights.
107:080,18['  ]| Jack got all this into his mind, and at once loathed it.  He loathed the
107:080,19['  ]| thought of an "occupation*certificate."  He loathed the thought of being
107:080,20['  ]| responsible to$4$ the Government for$4$ a piece of land.  He almost loathed the
107:080,21['  ]| thought of being tied to$4$ land at all.  He did not want to$9$ \own\ things; especially
107:080,22['  ]| land, that$6#1$ is like$4$ a grave to$4$ you as soon as you do own it.  He did not want to$9$ own
107:080,23['  ]| anything.  He simply could not bear the thought of being tied down.  Even his
107:080,24['  ]| own unpacked luggage he had detested.
107:080,25['  ]| But he had started in$5$ with this taking-up land business, so$3$ he thought he would
107:080,26['  ]| try an easy way to$9$ get through with it.
107:080,27[A  ]| "Dear Father,
107:080,28[A  ]| I could take up$5$ land on$4$ my own account now if you sent a few hundred
107:080,29[A  ]| pounds for$4$ that$6#2$ purpose, per Mr*George.  He would pay the deposit and
107:080,30[A  ]| arrange it for$4$ me.  I have my eye on$4$ one or two improved farms falling idle
107:080,31[A  ]| shortly down this Gum*Valley district, which$6#1$ is very flourishing.  When they
107:080,32[A  ]| fall vacant on$4$ account of settlers dropping them, they can be picked up$5$ very
107:080,33[A  ]| cheap.
107:080,34[A  ]| I hope you are quite well, as I am at present.
107:080,35[A  ]| Your affec% son,
107:080,36[A  ]| JACK"
107:080,37['  ]| Jack spent his sixpence on$4$ this important document, and forgot all about
107:080,38['  ]| it.  And in$4$ the dead end of the hot summer, just in$4$ the nick of time, he got this
107:080,39['  ]| answer.
107:080,40['  ]| Sea*View*Terrace,
107:080,41['  ]| Bournemouth,
107:080,42['  ]| 2/2/83.
107:080,43[W  ]| "Dear Jack,
107:080,44[W  ]| Thank you for$4$ your most comprehensive letter of 30/11/82.  It is quite
107:080,45[W  ]| impossible for$4$ me to$9$ raise several hundreds of pounds, or for$4$ the matter of
107:081,01[W  ]| that$6#2$, one hundred pounds, in$4$ this off-hand manner.  I do not want to$9$ be hard
107:081,02[W  ]| on$4$ you, but we want you to$9$ be independent as soon as possible.  We have so$5#1$
107:081,03[W  ]| many expenses, and I have no$2$ intention of sinking funds in$4$ the virgin
107:081,04[W  ]| Australian wild, at any rate until I see a way clear to$4$ getting some return for$4$
107:081,05[W  ]| my money, in$4$ some form of safe interest accruing to$4$ you at my death.  You
107:081,06[W  ]| must not expect to$9$ run before you can walk.  Stay where you are and learn
107:081,07[W  ]| what you can till your year is up$5$, and then we will$1$ see about a jackeroo's job, at
107:081,08[W  ]| which$6#1$, your mother tells me, you will$1$ earn L*1 a week, instead of our having to$9$
107:081,09[W  ]| pay it for$4$ you.
107:081,10[W  ]| We all send felicitations.
107:081,11[W  ]| Your affectionate father,
107:081,12[W  ]| G%*B%*GRANT."
107:081,13['  ]| But this is running ahead.  It is not yet Christmas, 1882.
108:082,00[U  ]| <Home for$4$ Christmas>
108:082,00[U  ]| <i>
108:082,01['  ]| It was a red hot Christmas that$6#2$ year ~~ 'ot, 'ot, 'ot, all day long.  Good Lord,
108:082,02['  ]| how hot it was! ~~ till blessed evening.  Sun-down brought blessings in$4$ its
108:082,03['  ]| trail.  After six o'clock you would sense the breeze coming from the sea.
108:082,04['  ]| Whispering, sighing, hesitating.  Then, puff!  there it was.  Delicious, sweet, it
108:082,05['  ]| seemed to$9$ save one's life
108:082,06['  ]| It had been splendid out back, but it was nice to$9$ get home again and sit
108:082,07['  ]| down to$4$ regular work, have clean clothes and sheets to$4$ one's bed.  To$9$ have
108:082,08['  ]| your ironing and cooking done for$4$ you, and sit down to$4$ dinner at a big table
108:082,09['  ]| with fresh, hailstorm-patterned tablecloth on$4$ it.  There was a sense almost of
108:082,10['  ]| glory in$4$ a big, white, glossy hailstorm tablecloth.  It lifted you up$5$.
108:082,11['  ]| Mr*Ellis had taken Gran away for$4$ the time, so$3$ the place seemed freer,
108:082,12['  ]| noisier.  There was nothing to$9$ keep quiet for$4$.  It was holiday ~~ \pinkie\, the
108:082,13['  ]| natives called it; the fierce mid-summer Christmas.  Everybody was allowed
108:082,14['  ]| to$9$ "spell" a great deal.
108:082,15['  ]| Tom and Jack were roasted like$4$ Red*Indians, rather uncouth, and more
108:082,16['  ]| manly.  At first they seemed rather bumptious, thinking themselves very
108:082,17['  ]| much men.  Jack could now ride his slippery saddle in$4$ fine style, and handle a
108:082,18['  ]| rope or an axe, and shoot straight.  He knew jarrah, karri, eucalyptus, sandal,
108:082,19['  ]| wattle, peppermint, banksia, she-oaks, pines, paper-back and gum-trees; he
108:082,20['  ]| had learned to$9$ tan a kangaroo hide, pegging it on$5$ to$4$ a tree; he had looked far
108:082,21['  ]| into the wilderness, and seen the beyond, and been seized with a desire to$9$
108:082,22['  ]| explore it; he had made excursions over "likely places," with hammer and
108:082,23['  ]| pick, looking for$4$ gold.  He had hunted and brought home meat, had trapped
108:082,24['  ]| and destroyed many native cats and dingoes.  He had lain awake at night and
108:082,25['  ]| listened to$4$ the more-porks, and in$4$ the early morning had heard with delight
108:082,26['  ]| the warbling of the timeline and thickhead thrushes that$6#1$ abounded round
108:082,27['  ]| the camp, mingled with the noises of magpies, tits and wrens.  He had
108:082,28['  ]| watched the manoeuvres of willy-wagtails, and of a brilliant variety of birds:
108:082,29['  ]| weavers, finches, parrots, honey-eaters, and pigeons.  But the banded wrens
108:082,30['  ]| and blue-birds were his favourites in$4$ the bush world.
108:082,31['  ]| Well, on$4$ such a hero as this, the young home-hussies Monica and Grace
108:082,32['  ]| had better not look too lightly.  He was so$5#1$ grand they could hardly reach him
108:082,33['  ]| with a long pole.
108:082,34[W  ]| "And how many emus did you see?"  
108:082,34['  ]| asked Og.  For$3$ lately at Wandoo they had
108:082,35['  ]| had a plague of emus, which$6#1$ got into the paddocks and ate down the sheeps'
108:082,36['  ]| food-stuff, and then got out again by$4$ running at the fences and bashing a
108:082,37['  ]| way through.
108:083,01['  ]| Jack had never seen one.
108:083,02[V  ]| "Never seen an emu!"  
108:083,02['  ]| Even little Ellie shrilled in$4$ derisive amazement.
108:083,03[V  ]| "Monica, he has \never seen an emu\!"
108:083,04['  ]| Already they had snipped the tip off the high feather he had in$4$ his cap.
108:083,05['  ]| But he was still a hero, and Lennie followed him round like$4$ a satellite,
108:083,06['  ]| while the girls were obviously \thrilled\ at having Tom and him back again.
108:083,07['  ]| They would giggle and whisper behind Bow's back, and wherever he was,
108:083,08['  ]| they were always sauntering out to$9$ stand not far off from him.  So$3$ that$3$, of
108:083,09['  ]| course, their thrill entered also into Jack's veins, he felt a cocky young lord, a
108:083,10['  ]| young life-master.  This suited him very well.
108:083,11['  ]| But there was no$2$ love-making, of course.  They all laughed and joked
108:083,12['  ]| together over the milking and pail-carrying and feeding and butter-making
108:083,13['  ]| and cheese-making and everything, and life was a happy delirium.
108:083,14['  ]| They had waited for$4$ Tom to$9$ come home, to$9$ rob the bees. Tom hated the
108:083,15['  ]| bees and they hated him, but he was staunch.  Veils, bonnets, gloves, gaiters
108:083,16['  ]| were produced, and off they all set, in$4$ great joy at their own appearance, with
108:083,17['  ]| gong, fire, and endless laughter.  Tom was to$9$ direct from a distance:  he stood
108:083,18['  ]| afar "Smoking them off."  Grace and Monica worked merrily among the
108:083,19['  ]| hives, manipulating the boxes which$6#1$ held the comb, lifting them on$5$ to$4$ the
108:083,20['  ]| milk pans to$9$ save the honey, and handing the pans to$4$ the boys to$9$ carry in$5$.
108:083,21[H  ]| "Oooh," 
108:083,21['  ]| yelled Tom suddenly, 
108:083,21[H  ]| "Oooh!"
108:083,22['  ]| A cloud of angry bees was round his head.  Down went his fire-protector 
108:083,23['  ]| ~~ a tin full of smouldering chips ~~ down went flappers and bellows
108:083,24['  ]| as with a shriek he beat the air.  The more he beat the darker the venomous
108:083,25['  ]| cloud. Crippled with terror, he ran on$4$ shaking legs.  The girls and youngsters
108:083,26['  ]| were paralysed with joy.  They swarmed after him shrieking with laughter.
108:083,27['  ]| His head was completely hidden by$4$ bees, but his arms like$4$ windmills waved
108:083,28['  ]| wildly to$8$ and fro.  He dashed into the cubby, but the bees went with him.  He
108:083,29['  ]| appeared at the window for$4$ a moment, showing a demented face, then he
108:083,30['  ]| jumped out, and the bees with him.  Leaping the drain gap and yelling in$4$
108:083,31['  ]| terror, he made for$4$ the house.  The bees swung with him and the children
108:083,32['  ]| after.  Jack and the girls stood speechless, looking at one another.  Monica had
108:083,33['  ]| on$5$ man's trousers with an old uniform buttoned close to$4$ her neck, workmen's
108:083,34['  ]| socks over her shoes and trouser-ends, and a Chinaman's hat with a
108:083,35['  ]| veil over it, netted round her head like$4$ a meat-safe.  Jack noticed that$3$ she was
108:083,36['  ]| funny.  Suddenly, somehow, she looked mysterious to$4$ him, and not just the
108:083,37['  ]| ordinary image of a girl.  Suddenly a new cavern seemed to$9$ open before his
108:083,38['  ]| eyes; the mysterious, fascinating cavern of the female unknown.  He was not
108:083,39['  ]| definitely conscious of this.  But seeing Monica there in$4$ the long white flannel
108:083,40['  ]| trousers and the Chinaman's hat meat-safe over her face, something else
108:083,41['  ]| awoke in$4$ him, a new awareness of a new wonder.  He had but lately stood on$4$
108:083,42['  ]| the inward ranges and looked inland into the blue, vast mystery of the
108:083,43['  ]| Australian interior.  And now with another opposite vision he saw an opposite
108:083,44['  ]| mystery opposing him:  the mystery of the female, the young female
108:083,45['  ]| there in$4$ her grotesque garb.
108:084,01['  ]| A new awarenesss of Monica began to$9$ trouble him.
108:084,02[H  ]| "Oooh!  Oooh!  Ma!  Ma!  Ma!"  
108:084,02['  ]| Out rushed Tom straight from the kitchen
108:084,03['  ]| door, the bees still with him.  Straight he dashed to$4$ the garden, and to$4$ the well
108:084,04['  ]| in$4$ the middle. He loosed the windlass and stood on$4$ the coping screaming
108:084,05['  ]| while the bucket clanged and clashed to$4$ the bottom.  Then Tom seized the
108:084,06['  ]| rope, and turning his legs round it, slid silently into the hidden, cool, dark
108:084,07['  ]| depths.
108:084,08['  ]| The children shrieked with bliss.  Jack and the girls rocked with helpless
108:084,09['  ]| laughter, convulsed by$4$ this last exit.
108:084,10['  ]| The bees were puzzled.  They poised buzzbee fashion above the well-head,
108:084,11['  ]| explored the mouth of the shaft, and rose again and hovered.  Then they
108:084,12['  ]| began to$9$ straggle way.  They melted into the hot air.
108:084,13['  ]| And now the girls and Jack drew up$5$ from the well a raging and soaking
108:084,14['  ]| Tom.  Drew him up$5$ uncertainly, wobbingly, a terrible weight on$4$ the straining,
108:084,15['  ]| creaking windlass.  Ma and Ellie took him in$4$ hand and daubed him a
108:084,16['  ]| sublime blue:  
108:084,16@e   | like$4$ an ancient Briton, 
108:084,16['  ]| Grace said.  Then they gave him bread
108:084,17['  ]| and jam and a cup of tea.
108:084,18['  ]| Then occurred another honey-bee tragedy.  Ellie, who$6#1$ had done nothing
108:084,19['  ]| at all to$4$ the bees, suddenly shrieked loudly and ran pelting round screaming:
108:084,20[V  ]| "I have got a bee in$4$ my head!  I have got a bee in$4$ my head!"  
108:084,20['  ]| Monica caught and
108:084,21['  ]| held her, while Jack took the bee, a big drone, out of the silky meshes of her
108:084,22['  ]| honey hair.  And as he lifted his eyes he met the yellow eyes of Monica.  And
108:084,23['  ]| the two exchanged a moment's look of intimacy and communication and
108:084,24['  ]| secret shame, so$3$ that$3$ they both went away avoiding one another.
108:084,00[U  ]| <ii>
108:084,25['  ]| On$4$ New*Year's*Eve there was always a foregathering of the settlers at the
108:084,26['  ]| Wandoo homestead.  They must foregather somewhere, and Wandoo was
108:084,27['  ]| the oldest and most flourishing place.  It occupied the banks of the so-called
108:084,28['  ]| Avon*River, which$6#1$ was mostly just a great dry bed of stones.  But it had plenty
108:084,29['  ]| of fresh water in$4$ the soaks and wells, among the scorched rocks, and these
108:084,30['  ]| wells were fed by$4$ underground springs, not brackish, as is so$5#1$ often the case.
108:084,31['  ]| Wandoo was therefore a favoured place.
108:084,32[A  ]| "What am I to$9$ wear?"  
108:084,32['  ]| said Jack aghast, when he heard of the affair.
108:084,33[H  ]| "Anything," 
108:084,33['  ]| said Tom.
108:084,34[J  ]| "Nothing," 
108:084,34['  ]| said Len.
108:084,35[D  ]| "Your new riding suit," 
108:084,35['  ]| said Monica, who$6#1$ had begun to$9$ assume airs of
108:084,36['  ]| proprietorship over him.  
108:084,36[D  ]| "And you need not say anything, young Len,"  
108:084,36['  ]| she
108:084,37['  ]| continued venomously, 
108:084,37[D  ]| "because you have got to$9$ wear that$6#2$ new holland suit Ma
108:084,38[D  ]| got you from England, \and\ boots and  socks as well."
108:084,39[J  ]| "It is awful.  Oo-er!  It is awful!"  
108:084,39['  ]| groaned Lennie.
108:084,40['  ]| It was.  A tight-fitting brown holland suit with pants halfway down the shin
108:084,41['  ]| and many pearl-buttons across the stomach, the coat with a stiff stand-up
108:085,01['  ]| collar and rigid seams.  Harry had a similar rig, but the twins out-did Solomon
108:085,02['  ]| in$4$ sailor suits with gold braid and floppy legs.  At least they started in$4$
108:085,03['  ]| glory.
108:085,04['  ]| Tom in$4$ his father's old tennis-flannels and neat linen jacked looked quite
108:085,05['  ]| handsome.  But when he saw Jack in$4$ his real pukka riding rig, he exclaimed:
108:085,06[H  ]| "God Almighty, but you have got the goods!"
108:085,07[A  ]| "A bit too dashing?"  
108:085,07['  ]| asked Jack anxiously.
108:085,08[H  ]| "Not on$4$ your life!  You will$1$ do fine.  Reds all go in$5$ for$4$ riding breeks and coats
108:085,09[H  ]| as near sporting dog's yank as they k'n get them.  There is a couple of white
108:085,10[H  ]| washing suits of Dad's as he has grown out of, as I will$1$ plank up$5$ in$4$ the loft to$9$
108:085,11[H  ]| change into to-night.  We can not come in$4$ this here cubby again.  Once we leave
108:085,12[H  ]| it it will$1$ be jumped by$4$ all the women and children from round the country, to$9$
108:085,13[H  ]| put their things in$5$."
108:085,14[A  ]| "Will$1$ not they go into the house?"
108:085,15[H  ]| "Hallelujah, no$7$!  Only relations go upstairs.  Quality into the dyin'*room.
108:085,16[H  ]| Yahoos anywhere, and the ladies always bag our cubby."
108:085,17[A  ]| "Lor!"
108:085,18['  ]| But it had to$9$ be so$5#2$.  For$4$ the New*Year's chivoo the settlers all saved up$5$, and
108:085,19['  ]| they all dressed up$5$.  By$4$ ten o'clock the place was like$4$ a fair*ground. Horses of
108:085,20['  ]| all sorts nosing their feed bags; conveyances of all sorts unhitched; girls all
108:085,21['  ]| muslin and ribbon; boys with hats on$5$ at an angle, and boots on$5$; men in$4$ clean
108:085,22['  ]| shirts and brilliant ties; mothers in$4$ frill and furbelow, with stiffly-starched
108:085,23['  ]| little children half hidden under sunbonnets; old dames and ancient patriarchs,
108:085,24['  ]| young, bearded farmers, and shaven civilians ridden over from York.
108:085,25['  ]| Children rushing relentlessly in$4$ the heat, amid paper bags, orange peel,
108:085,26['  ]| concertina playing, baskets of victuals and fruit, canvas, rubbish and nuts all
108:085,27['  ]| over the scorched grass.  Christmas!
108:085,28['  ]| Tom had asked Jack to$9$ organise a cricket eleven to$9$ play against the Reds.
108:085,29['  ]| The Reds were dangerous opponents, and the dandies of the day.  In$4$ riding
108:085,30['  ]| breeches made India fashion, with cotton gaiters, and rubber-soled shoes,
108:085,31['  ]| white shirts, and broad-brimmed hats, they looked a handsome colonial set.
108:085,32['  ]| And they had a complete eleven.
108:085,33['  ]| Tom was sitting on$4$ a bat bemoaning his fate.  He had only five reliable
108:085,34['  ]| men.
108:085,35[J  ]| "Aw, shut up$5$!"  
108:085,35['  ]| said Lennie.  
108:085,35[J  ]| "Somebody will$1$ turn up$5$.  Who$6#2$ is comin' in$5$ at the
108:085,36[J  ]| gate now?  Is not it the parson from York, and five gents what can handle a
108:085,37[J  ]| bat.  Hell!  is not my name cockadoodle!"
108:085,38['  ]| In$4$ top hats and white linen suits these gentlemen had ridden their twenty-five
108:085,39['  ]| miles for$4$ a game.  What price the Reds now!
108:085,40['  ]| Tom's side was in$5$ first, Easu and Rosy*Ellis bowling.  Easu, big, loose, easy,
108:085,41['  ]| looked strange and \native\, as if he belonged to$4$ the natural salt of the earth
108:085,42['  ]| there.  He seemed at home, like$4$ an emu or a yellow mimosa tree.  He was a
108:085,43['  ]| bowler of repute.  But somehow Jack could not bear to$9$ see him palm the ball
108:085,44['  ]| before he bowled:  could not bear to$9$ watch it.  Whereas fat Ross*Ellis, the other
108:085,45['  ]| bowler, spitting on$4$ his hand and rolling the ball in$4$ elation after getting the
108:086,01['  ]| wicket of the best man from York, Jack did not mind him.  But unable to$9$ watch
108:086,02['  ]| Easu, he walked away across the paddock, among the squatting mothers
108:086,03['  ]| whose terror was the flying leather ball.
108:086,04[W  ]| "Your turn at the wickets, Mr*Grant," 
108:086,04['  ]| called the excited red-faced parson,
108:086,05['  ]| who$6#1$, Lennie declared, 
108:086,05[J  ]| "could not preach less or act more."
108:086,06[W  ]| "We are eight men out for$4$ twenty-six rounds, so$3$ smack at them.  If you can get
108:086,07[W  ]| the loose end on$4$ Ross, do it.  I will$1$ be in$4$ the other end next and stop them off Easu.  I
108:086,08[W  ]| come in$5$ right there as the useful block."
108:086,09['  ]| Jack was excited.  And when he was excited, phrases always came up$5$ in$4$ his
108:086,10['  ]| mind.  He had the sun in$4$ his eyes, but the bat felt good.
108:086,11@x   | "If a gentleman sees bad, he ignores it.  He ~~ "
108:086,12@a   | Here comes the ball from that$6#2$ devil Easu!"
108:086,13[N  ]| How is that$6#2$!
108:086,14@x   | "Finds good and fans it to$4$ flame ~~ fans it to$4$ ~~ "
108:086,15['  ]| Joe*Low, that$6#2$ stripling, had the other wicket.
108:086,16['  ]| Smack!  Jack scored the first run off Easu, running for$4$ his life.
108:086,17@x   | "You can be a gentleman even if you are a bush-whacker."
108:086,18['  ]| Nine wickets had fallen to$4$ Easu for$4$ twenty-seven runs, and Easu was
108:086,19['  ]| elated.  Then the parson came forth and stood opposite Jack.  He at once
108:086,20['  ]| whacked Ross' ball successfully, for$4$ three.  Jack hitched his belt after the run,
108:086,21['  ]| and hit out for$4$ another.
108:086,22['  ]| Smack!  No$2$ need to$9$ run that$6#2$ time.  It was a boundary.  Lennie's voice outside
108:086,23['  ]| yelling admiration roused his soul, as did Easu's yelling angrily to$4$ Ross:  
108:086,23[N  ]| "You
108:086,24[N  ]| give that$6#2$ ball to$4$ Sam, this over.  You blanky idjut!"
108:086,25['  ]| Ross picked up$5$ the returning leather, and sent down a sulky grubber
108:086,26['  ]| which$6#1$ Jack naturally skied.  Herbert, placed at a point in$4$ the shade, came out
108:086,27['  ]| to$9$ catch it, and missed.
108:086,28['  ]| Somehow the parson had steadied Jack's spirit.  And when, in$4$ a crisis, Jack
108:086,29['  ]| got his spirit steadied, it seemed to$4$ him he could get a semi-magical grip over
108:086,30['  ]| a situation.  Almost as if he could alter the swerve of the ball by$4$ his pure,
108:086,31['  ]| clairvoyant \will$0$\.  So$5#2$ it seemed.  And keyed up$5$ against the weird, handsome,
108:086,32['  ]| native Easu, as if by$4$ a magic of will$0$ Jack held the wicket and got the runs.  It 
108:086,33['  ]| was one of those subtle battles which$6#1$ are beyond our understanding.  And
108:086,34['  ]| Jack won.
108:086,35['  ]| But Easu got him out in$4$ the end.  In$4$ the first innings, a terrific full pitch
108:086,36['  ]| came down crash over his head on$5$ to$4$ the middle wicket, when he had made
108:086,37['  ]| his first half-century; that$6#2$ was Easu; and Easu stumped him out in$4$ the second
108:086,38['  ]| innings, for$4$ twenty.
108:086,39['  ]| Nevertheless the Reds were beaten by$4$ a margin of sixteen runs, before the
108:086,40['  ]| parson and the gentlemen in$4$ top hats set off for$4$ their long and dusty ride to$4$
108:086,41['  ]| York.
108:087,00[U  ]| <iii>
108:087,01['  ]| Jack hated the Reds with all the wholesale hatred of eighteen.  There they
108:087,02['  ]| were, all of them, swaggering round as if the place belonged to$4$ them, taking
108:087,03['  ]| everything and giving nothing.  Their peculiar air of assertion was particularly
108:087,04['  ]| maddening, in$4$ contrast with the complete lack of assumption on$4$ the
108:087,05['  ]| part of the other Australians.  It was as if the Reds had made up$5$ their minds,
108:087,06['  ]| all of them, to$9$ leave a bruise on$4$ everything they touched.  They were all big
108:087,07['  ]| men, and all older than Jack.  Easu must have been over thirty, and unmarried,
108:087,08['  ]| with a bad reputation among the women of the colony.  Yet, apparently,
108:087,09['  ]| he could always find a girl.  That$6#2$ slow, laconic assurance of his, his peculiar,
108:087,10['  ]| meaning smile as he drifted up$5$ loose-jointed to$4$ a girl, seemed nearly always
108:087,11['  ]| to$9$ get through.  The women watched him out of the corner of their eye.  They
108:087,12['  ]| did not \like$1$\ him.  But they felt his power.  And that$6#2$ was perhaps even more
108:087,13['  ]| effective.
108:087,14['  ]| For$3$ he had power.  And this was what Jack felt lacking in$4$ himself.  Jack had
108:087,15['  ]| quick, intuitive understanding, and a quick facility.  But he had not Easu's
108:087,16['  ]| power.  Sometimes Easu could look really handsome, strolling slowly across
108:087,17['  ]| to$4$ some girl with a peculiar rolling gait that$6#1$ distinguished him, and smiling
108:087,18['  ]| that$6#2$ little, meaningful, evil smile.  Then he looked handsome, and as if he
108:087,19['  ]| belonged to$4$ another race of men, men who$6#1$ were like$4$ small-headed demons
108:087,20['  ]| out to$9$ destroy the world.
108:087,21@a   | "I am fighting him," 
108:087,21['  ]| thought Jack.  
108:087,21@a   | "I would not have a good opinion of
108:087,22@a   | myself if I did not."
108:087,23['  ]| For$3$ he saw in$4$ Easu a malevolent principle, a kind of venom.
108:087,24['  ]| Ross*Ellis, the youngest of the Reds, was old enough to$9$ be joining the
108:087,25['  ]| mounted police force in$4$ a few days, and Mr*Ellis had sent up$5$ a strong
108:087,26['  ]| chestnut mount for$4$ him, from the coast.  Easu, tall, broad, sinewy, with
108:087,27['  ]| sinewy powerful legs and small buttocks, was sitting close to$4$ the prancing
108:087,28['  ]| chestnut, showing off, his malevolence seeming to$9$ smile under his blonde
108:087,29['  ]| beard, and his blue, rivet eyes taking in$4$ everything.  All the time he went
108:087,30['  ]| fooling the simple farmers who$6#1$ had come to$4$ the sports, raising a laugh where
108:087,31['  ]| he could, and always a laugh of derision
108:087,32[A  ]| "Tom,"  
108:087,32['  ]| said Jack at last, 
108:087,32[A  ]| "could not you boss it a bit over those Reds?  It is \your\
108:087,33[A  ]| place, it is \your\ house, not theirs.  Go on$5$, put them down a bit, do."
108:087,34[H  ]| "Aw," 
108:087,34['  ]| said Tom.  
108:087,34[H  ]| "They are older'n me, and the place by$4$ rights belongs to$4$
108:087,35[H  ]| them:  leastways they think so$5#2$.  And they \are\ crack sportsmen."
108:087,36[A  ]| "Why they are not!  Look at Easu parading on$4$ that$6#2$ police horse your father
108:087,37[A  ]| sent up$5$ from the coast!  And look at all the other cockeys getting ready to$9$
108:087,38[A  ]| compete against him in$4$ the riding events.  They have not a chance, and he
108:087,39[A  ]| knows it."
108:087,40[H  ]| "He will$1$ not risk taking that$6#2$ police horse over the jumps, do not you fret."
108:087,41[A  ]| "No$7$, but he has the pick of your stable, and he will$1$ beat all the others while
108:087,42[A  ]| you stand idling by$5$.  Why should \he\ be cock of the walk?"
108:087,43[J  ]| "Why," 
108:087,43['  ]| cried Lennie breaking in$5$, 
108:087,43[J  ]| "I could beat anyfin on$4$ Lucy.  But Tom
108:088,01[J  ]| will$1$ not let me go in$5$ against the other chaps, will$1$ you, Tom?"
108:088,02['  ]| Tom smiled.  He had a plain brick-red face, patient and unchanging, with
108:088,03['  ]| white teeth, and brown, sensitive eyes.  When he smiled he had a great charm.
108:088,04['  ]| But he did not often smile, and his mouth was marred by$4$ the look so$5#1$ many
108:088,05['  ]| men develop in$4$ Australia, facing the bush:  that$6#2$ lipless look, which$6#1$ Jack, as he
108:088,06['  ]| grew more used to$4$ it, came to$9$ call the suffering look.  As if they had bitten and
108:088,07['  ]| been bitten hard, perhaps too hard.
108:088,08[H  ]| "Well, Nipper,"  
108:088,08['  ]| he said after a moment's hesitation; 
108:088,08[H  ]| "if you finds them
108:088,09[H  ]| Waybacks has it between them, you stand out.  But you can have Lucy if you like$1$,
108:088,10[H  ]| and if you beat the \Reds\ ~~ you can beat them."
108:088,11[J  ]| "That$6#2$ is what \I\ mean all right!"  
108:088,11['  ]| cried Lennie, capering.  
108:088,11[J  ]| "I savvy O%*K% I will$1$
108:088,12[J  ]| give them googlies and sneaks and leg-breaks, you see if I do not, and even up$5$ for$4$
108:088,13[J  ]| them."
108:088,00[U  ]| <iv>
108:088,14['  ]| Monica came up$5$ and took Jack's arm with sudden impulsive affection, on$4$
108:088,15['  ]| this very public day.  Drawing him away, she said:
108:088,16[D  ]| "Come and sit down a bit under the Bay*Fig, Jack.  I want to$9$ rest.  All these
108:088,17[D  ]| people tearing us in$4$ two from morning till night."
108:088,18['  ]| Jack found himself thrilling to$4$ the girl's touch, to$4$ his own surprise and
108:088,19['  ]| disgust.  He flushed slowly, and went on$4$ stiff legs, hoping nobody was
108:088,20['  ]| looking at him.  Nobody was looking \specially\, of course.  But Monica kept
108:088,21['  ]| hold of his arm, with her light, tense, girlish hand, and he found it difficult to$9$
108:088,22['  ]| walk naturally.  And again the queer electric thrills went through him, from
108:088,23['  ]| that$6#2$ light blade of her hand.
108:088,24['  ]| She was very lovely to-day, with a sort of winsomeness, a sort of fierce
108:088,25['  ]| appeal.  As a matter of fact, she had been flirting dangerously with Red Easu,
108:088,26['  ]| till she  was a bit scared.  And she had been laughing and fooling with Hal*Stockley 
108:088,27['  ]| ~~ otherwise Pink-eye*Percy ~~ whom all the girls were mad about,
108:088,28['  ]| but who$6#1$ did not affect her seriously.  Easu affected her, though.  And she
108:088,29['  ]| did not really like$1$ him.  That$6#2$ was why she had come for$4$ Jack, whom she liked
108:088,30['  ]| very much indeed.  She felt so$5#1$ safe and happy with him.  And she loved his
108:088,31['  ]| delicate, English, virgin quality, his shyness and his natural purity.  He was
108:088,32['  ]| purer than she was.  So$3$ she wanted to$9$ make him in$4$ love with her.  She was sure
108:088,33['  ]| he \was\ in$4$ love with her.  But it was such a shy, unwilling love, she was half
108:088,34['  ]| annoyed.
108:088,35['  ]| So$3$ she leaned forward to$4$ him, with her fierce young face and her queer,
108:088,36['  ]| yellow, glowering eyes, not far from his, and she seemed to$9$ yearn to$4$ him with
108:088,37['  ]| a yearning like$4$ a young leopard.  Sometimes she touched his hand, and
108:088,38['  ]| sometimes, laughing and showing her small, pointed teeth winsomely, she
108:088,39['  ]| would look straight into his eyes, as if searching for$4$ something.  And he
108:088,40['  ]| flushed with a dazed sort of delight, unwilling to$9$ be overpowered by$4$ the new
108:088,41['  ]| delight, yet dazed by$4$ it, even to$4$ the point of forgetting the other people and
108:089,01['  ]| the party, and Easu on$4$ the chestnut horse.
108:089,02['  ]| But he made no$2$ move.  When she touched his hand, though his eyes shone
108:089,03['  ]| with a queer suffused light, he would not take her hand in$4$ his.  He would not
108:089,04['  ]| touch her.  He would not make any definite response.  To$4$ all she said, he
108:089,05['  ]| answered in$4$ simple monosyllables.  And there he sat, suffused with delight,
108:089,06['  ]| yet making no$2$ move whatsoever.
108:089,07['  ]| Till at last Monica, who$6#1$ was used to$4$ defending herself, was niffed.  She
108:089,08['  ]| thought him a muff.  So$3$ she suddenly rose and left him.  Went right away.
108:089,09['  ]| And he was very much surprised and chagrined, feeling that$3$ somehow it
108:089,10['  ]| was not possible, and feeling as if the sun had gone out of the sky.
108:089,00[U  ]| <v>
108:089,11['  ]| The sun really was low in$4$ the heavens.  The breeze came at last from the sea
108:089,12['  ]| and freshened the air and lifted the sweet crushed scent of the trampled dry
108:089,13['  ]| grass.  It was time for$4$ the last events of the sports.  Everybody was eager,
108:089,14['  ]| revived by$4$ the approach of evening, and Jack felt the drunkenness of new
108:089,15['  ]| delight upon$4$ him.  He was still vague, however, and unwilling even to$9$ think
108:089,16['  ]| of Monica, much less seek her out.
108:089,17['  ]| The black-boys' event, with unbroken buckjumpers, was finishing down
108:089,18['  ]| by$4$ the river, Joe*Low, with a serious face but sparkling eyes, went riding by$5$
108:089,19['  ]| on$4$ a brumby colt he had caught and broken himself.  Jack sat alone under a
108:089,20['  ]| tree, waiting for$4$ the flat race, in$4$ which$6#1$ he was entered, and feeling sure of
108:089,21['  ]| himself.
108:089,22['  ]| Easu came dancing up$5$ on$4$ the raw chestnut that$6#1$ had been sent up$5$ from the
108:089,23['  ]| coast along with the police horse.  He wore spurs, and had a long parrot-feather
108:089,24['  ]| in$4$ his hat.
108:089,25[N  ]| "Here you, young Pommy*Grant," 
108:089,25['  ]| he said to$4$ Jack.  
108:089,25[N  ]| "Ketch hold of me bit
108:089,26[N  ]| while I fix me girths a bit tighter, and then you c'n hold your breath while I
108:089,27[N  ]| show them Cornseeds what."
108:089,28['  ]| He had a peculiarly insolent manner towards Jack.  The latter nevertheless
108:089,29['  ]| held the frothy chestnut while Easu swung out of the saddle and hitched up$5$
108:089,30['  ]| the girth.  As he bent there beside the horse, Jack noticed his broad shoulders
108:089,31['  ]| and narrow waist and small, hard, tense hips.  
108:089,31@a   | Yes, he was a man.  But ugh!
108:089,32@a   | what an objectionable one!  Especially the slight hateful smile of derision on$4$
108:089,33@a   | the red face and in$4$ the light-blue, small-pupilled eyes.
108:089,34@a   | But he clipped into the saddle again, and once more it was impossible not
108:089,35@a   | to$9$ admire his seat, his close, fine, clean, small seat in$4$ the saddle.  There was no$2$
108:089,36@a   | spread about him there.  And the power of the long, muscular thighs.  Then
108:089,37['  ]| once more he dismounted, leaving Jack to$9$ hold the bridle of the chestnut
108:089,38['  ]| whilst he himself strolled away.
108:089,39['  ]| The other farmers were waiting on$4$ their horses, so$5#1$ serious and quiet:  in$4$
108:089,40['  ]| their patience and unobtrusiveness, 
108:089,40@a   | so$5#1$ gentlemanly, 
108:089,40['  ]| Jack thought.  
108:089,40@a   | So$5#1$ unlike
108:089,41@a   | the assertive, jeering Easu.
108:090,01['  ]| Lennie came up$5$ and whipped the pin out of Jack's favour.  It was a rosette
108:090,02['  ]| of yellow ribbon, shiny as a buttercup, that$6#1$ Monica had made him.
108:090,03[A  ]| "Here, what are you doing?"  
108:090,03['  ]| he cried.
108:090,04[J  ]| "Aw, shut it.  Keep still!"  
108:090,04['  ]| said Lennie.
108:090,05['  ]| And slipping round, he pushed the pin, point downward, into the back
108:090,06['  ]| saddle-pad of the chestnut Jack was holding.  That$6#2$ was not fair.  But Jack let be.
108:090,07['  ]| The judge called his warning, the Cornseeds lined up$5$, along with Joe*Low
108:090,08['  ]| and a young yellow-faced dairyman and a slender skin-hunter, and a woolly
108:090,09['  ]| old stockman.  Easu came and took his chafing horse, but did not mount.
108:090,10[W  ]| "One!"  
108:090,10['  ]| Easu swung up$5$, standing in$4$ his stirrups, scarce touching the
108:090,11['  ]| saddle-seat.
108:090,12[W  ]| "Two!  Three!"  
108:090,12['  ]| and the sharp crack of a pistol.
108:090,13['  ]| Away went the scraggy brumby and Joe, and, like$4$ a torrent, the dairyman
108:090,14['  ]| and the skin-hunter and the stockman.  But the chestnut had never heard a
108:090,15['  ]| pistol shot before, and was jumping round wildly.
108:090,16[W  ]| "Blood and pace, mark you!"  
108:090,16['  ]| said the judge, waving towards the chestnut.
108:090,17[W  ]| "Them cockeys does their best on$4$ what they got, but watch that$6#2$ chestnut
108:090,18[W  ]| under Red Ellis.  It is a pleasure to$9$ see good horse-flesh like$3$ them Ellises
108:090,19[W  ]| brings up$5$ to$4$ these parts."
108:090,20['  ]| Easu, seeing the field running well and far ahead, wheeled his mount on$4$
108:090,21['  ]| the track at that$6#2$ minute, and sat down.
108:090,22['  ]| The chestnut sat up$5$, stopped, bucked, threw Easu, and then galloped
108:090,23['  ]| madly away.  It was all so$5#1$ sudden and somehow unnatural, that$3$ everybody
108:090,24['  ]| was stunned.  Easu rose and stared, with hell in$4$ his face, after the running
108:090,25['  ]| chestnut.  People began to$9$ laugh aloud.
108:090,26[H  ]| "Oh, Gawd my fathers!"  
108:090,26['  ]| murmured Tom in$4$ Jack's ear.  
108:090,26[H  ]| "Think of Easu
108:090,27[H  ]| getting a toss!  Easu letting \any\ horse get the soft side of him!  Oh, my Gawd, if
108:090,28[H  ]| I am not sorry for$4$ Easu when that$6#2$ crowd of Reds sets on$5$ to$4$ him with their
108:090,29[H  ]| tongues to-morrow."
108:090,30[A  ]| "I am jolly glad," 
108:090,30['  ]| said Jack complacently.
108:090,31[J  ]| "So$5#2$ am I," 
108:090,31['  ]| said Lennie.  
108:090,31[J  ]| "And I did it, and I wish it had killed him.  I put a pin
108:090,32[J  ]| under the saddle-crease, Tom.  Do not look at me, you need not.  I have had one up$5$
108:090,33[J  ]| again him for$4$ a long time, for$4$ Jack's sake.  Do you know what he did?  He put Jack
108:090,34[J  ]| on$4$ that$6#2$ Stampede stallion, when Jack had not been on$4$ our place a fortnight.
108:090,35[J  ]| So$5#2$ he did.  And if Jack had been killed, who$6#1$ would have called him a murderer?  Zah,
108:090,36[J  ]| one of the blacks told \me\.  And nobody durst tell you, cos they durst not."
108:090,37[H  ]| "On$4$ Stampede!"  
108:090,37['  ]| exclaimed Tom, going yellow, and hell coming into his
108:090,38['  ]| brown eyes.  
108:090,38[H  ]| "And a new chum my father trusted to$4$ him to$9$ show him round."
108:090,39[A  ]| "Oh, well," 
108:090,39['  ]| said Jack.
108:090,40[H  ]| "The ***!"  
108:090,40['  ]| said Tom:  and that$6#2$ was final.
108:090,41['  ]| Then after a moment:
108:090,42[H  ]| "If the Reds is going over the jumps, you go and get Lucy, Len."
108:090,43[J  ]| "I likes your sperrit, Tom.  I was goin' to$9$ anyway, case they get that$6#2$ dark
108:090,44[J  ]| 'oss."  
108:090,44['  ]| Lennie threw off his coat, hat, and tie, then sat on$4$ the trodden brown
108:090,45['  ]| grass to$9$ take off his boots and stockings.  Thus stripped, he stood up$5$ and
108:091,01['  ]| hitched his braces looser, remarking:
108:091,02[J  ]| "Jack*Grant said he would bash Easu's head for$4$ him if he said anything to$4$ me
108:091,03[J  ]| after I beat him over the jumps, so$3$ I was goin' to$9$ risk it anyway."
108:091,04['  ]| Jack had said no$2$ such thing, but was prepared to$9$ take the hint.
108:091,05['  ]| The chestnut had been caught and tied up$5$.  Down the field they could see
108:091,06['  ]| Easu persuading Sept to$9$ ride a smart piebald filly that$6#1$ had been brought in$5$.
108:091,07['  ]| Sept was the thinnest of the Reds.  The jumping events continued away on$4$
108:091,08['  ]| the left, the sun was almost setting.
108:091,09[W  ]| "Hurry up$5$ there for$4$ the final!"  
108:091,09['  ]| called the judge.
108:091,10['  ]| Sept came up$5$ on$4$ the delicate piebald filly which$6#1$ they had brought over
108:091,11['  ]| from their own place.  She was dark chestnut, and with flames of pure white,
108:091,12['  ]| she seemed dazzling.
108:091,13[J  ]| "That$6#2$ is the dark 'oss I mentioned!"  
108:091,13['  ]| said Len.  
108:091,13[J  ]| "Gosh, but me heart is
108:091,14[J  ]| beatin'!  It will$1$ be a real match between me and him, for$3$ that$6#2$ there filly can jump
108:091,15[J  ]| like$4$ a 'roo, I have watched her."
108:091,16['  ]| Joe*Low rode up$5$ to$4$ the jumping yard, and lifted his brumby over.  The filly
108:091,17['  ]| danced down and followed.  Lennie was in$4$ the saddle like$4$ a cat and Lucy went
108:091,18['  ]| over the rail without effort.
108:091,19['  ]| When the rail was at five feet two, Joe*Low's brumby was done.  Lucy
108:091,20['  ]| clipped the rail and the filly cleared it.  Sept brought his creature round to$4$ the
108:091,21['  ]| judge, with raised eyebrows.
108:091,22[J  ]| "No$7$, you do not," 
108:091,22['  ]| yelled Lennie, riding down the track hell for$4$ leather, and
108:091,23['  ]| Lucy went over like$4$ a swallow.  Sept laughed, and came down to$4$ the rail that$6#1$
108:091,24['  ]| was raised an inch.  The filly sailed it, but hit the bar.  Lucy baulked.  Len
108:091,25['  ]| swung her round and came again.  A perfect over.
108:091,26['  ]| Next!  The filly, snorting and frothing, tore down, jibbed, and was sworn at
108:091,27['  ]| loudly by$4$ Easu standing near.  Sept whipped and spurred her over.
108:091,28['  ]| But at that$6#2$ rail, raised to$4$ five feet nine, she would not be persuaded,
108:091,29['  ]| though Lucy cleared it with a curious casual ease.  The filly would not take it.
108:091,30[J  ]| "Say, Mister!"  
108:091,30['  ]| called Lennie when he knew he was winner.  
108:091,30[J  ]| "Raise that$6#2$
108:091,31[J  ]| barrier five inches and see us bound it."
108:091,32['  ]| He made his detour, brought Lucy along on$4$ twinkling feet, and cleared it
108:091,33['  ]| prettily.
108:091,34['  ]| The roar of delight from the crowd sent Easu mad.  Jack kept an eye on$4$
108:091,35['  ]| him, in$4$ case he meant mischief.  But Easu only went away to$4$ where the
108:091,36['  ]| niggers were still trying out the buckjumpers.  Taking hold of a huge rogue
108:091,37['  ]| of a mare, he sprang on$4$ her back and came bucking all along the track,
108:091,38['  ]| apparently to$9$ give a specimen of horsemanship.  The crowd watched the
108:091,39['  ]| queer massive pulsing up$5$ and down of the man and the powerful bucking
108:091,40['  ]| horse, all in$4$ a whirl of long hair, like$4$ some queer fountain of life.  And there
108:091,41['  ]| was Monica watching Easu's cruel, changeless face, that$6#1$ seemed to$9$ have
108:091,42['  ]| something fixed and eternal in$4$ it, amid all that$6#2$ heaving.
108:091,43['  ]| Jack felt he had a volcano inside him.  He knew that$3$ Stampede had been
108:091,44['  ]| caught again, and was being led about down there, securely roped, as part of
108:091,45['  ]| the show.  Down there among the outlaws.
108:092,01['  ]| Away ran Jack.  Anything rather than be beaten by$4$ Easu.  But as he ran, he
108:092,02['  ]| kept inside him that$6#2$ queer little flame of white-hot calm which$6#1$ was his
108:092,03['  ]| invicibility.
108:092,04['  ]| He patted Stampede's arching neck, and told Sam to$9$ saddle him.  Sam
108:092,05['  ]| showed the whites of his eyes, but obeyed, and Stampede took it.  Jack stood
108:092,06['  ]| by$5$, intense in$4$ his own cool calmness.  
108:092,06@a   | He did not care what happened to$4$ him. If
108:092,07@a   | he was to$9$ be killed he would be killed.  
108:092,07['  ]| But at the same time, he was not
108:092,08['  ]| reckless.  He watched the horse with mystical closeness, and glanced over the
108:092,09['  ]| saddle and bridle to$9$ see if they were all right.
108:092,10['  ]| Then, swift and light, he mounted and knew the joy of being a horseman,
108:092,11['  ]| the thrill of being a real horseman.  He had the gift, and he knew it.  If not the
108:092,12['  ]| gift of sheer power, like$4$ Easu, who$6#1$ seemed to$9$ overpower his horse as he rode
108:092,13['  ]| it, Jack had the gift of adjustment.  He adjusted himself to$4$ his horse.  Intuitively,
108:092,14['  ]| he yielded to$4$ Stampede, up$5$ to$4$ a certain point.  Beyond that$6#2$ certain
108:092,15['  ]| flexible point, there would be no$2$ yielding, none, and never.
108:092,16['  ]| Jack came bucking along in$4$ Easu's wake, on$4$ a much wilder horse.  But
108:092,17['  ]| though Stampede was wild and wicked, he never exerted his last efforts.  He
108:092,18['  ]| bucked like$4$ the devil.  But he never let himself altogether go.  And Jack
108:092,19['  ]| seemed to$9$ be listening with an inward ear to$4$ the animal, listening to$4$ its
108:092,20['  ]| passion.  After all, it was a live creature, to$9$ be mastered, but not to$9$ be
108:092,21['  ]| overborne.  Intuitively, the boy gave way to$4$ it as much as possible.  But he
108:092,22['  ]| never for$4$ one moment doubted his own mastery over it.  In$4$ his mastery there
108:092,23['  ]| must be a living tolerance.  This his instinct told him.  And the stallion,
108:092,24['  ]| bucking and sitting up$5$, seemed somehow to$9$ accept it.
108:092,25['  ]| For$3$, after all, if the horse had gone really wicked, absolutely wicked, it
108:092,26['  ]| would have been too much for$4$ Master*Jack.  What he depended on$4$ was the bit
108:092,27['  ]| of response the animal was capable of.  And this he knew.
108:092,28['  ]| He found he could sit the stallion with much greater ease than before.  And
108:092,29['  ]| that$6#2$ strange, powerful life beneath him and between his thighs, heaving and
108:092,30['  ]| breaking like$4$ some enormous alive wave, exhilarated him with great exultance,
108:092,31['  ]| the exultance in$4$ the power of life.
108:092,32['  ]| Monica's eyes turned from the red, fixed, overbearing face of Easu, to$4$ the
108:092,33['  ]| queer, abstract, radiant male face of Jack, and a great pang went through her
108:092,34['  ]| heart, and a cloud came over her brow.  The boy balanced on$4$ the trembling,
108:092,35['  ]| spurting stallion, looking down at it with dark-blue, wide, dark-looking eyes,
108:092,36['  ]| and thinking of nothing, yet feeling so$5#1$ much; his face looking soft and warm
108:092,37['  ]| with a certain masterfulness that$6#1$ was more animal than human, like$4$ a
108:092,38['  ]| centaur, as if he were one blood with the horse, and had the centaur's
108:092,39['  ]| superlative horse-sense, its non-human power, and wisdom of hot blood-knowledge.
108:092,40['  ]| She watched the boy, and her brow darkened and her face was
108:092,41['  ]| fretted as if she were denied something.  She wanted to$9$ look again at Easu,
108:092,42['  ]| with his fixed hard will$0$ that$6#1$ excited her.  But she could not.  The queer soft
108:092,43['  ]| power of the boy was too much for$4$ her, she could not save herself.
108:092,44['  ]| So$3$ they rode, the two men, and all the people watched them, as the sun
108:092,45['  ]| went down in$4$ the wild empty sea westward from hot Australia.
109:093,00[U  ]| <New Year's Eve>
109:093,00[U  ]| <i>
109:093,01['  ]| New*Year's*Eve was celebrated Scotch style, at Wandoo.  It was already
109:093,02['  ]| night, and Jack and Tom had been round seeing if the visitors had
109:093,03['  ]| everything they wanted.  Ma and a few select guests were still in$4$ the kitchen.
109:093,04['  ]| The cold collation in$4$ the parlour still waited majestically.  The twins and
109:093,05['  ]| Harry were no$2$ longer visible:  they had subsided on$4$ their stomachs by$4$ the
109:093,06['  ]| wood-pile, in$4$ the hot evening, and found refuge in$4$ sleep; for$4$ all the world
109:093,07['  ]| like$4$ sailors sunk dilapidated and demoralised, after a high old spree.  But
109:093,08['  ]| Ellie and Baby were at their zenith.  Having been kept out of the ruck most
109:093,09['  ]| carefully upstairs, they were now produced at their best.  Mr*Ellis was again
109:093,10['  ]| away in$4$ Perth, seeing the doctor.
109:093,11['  ]| Tom and Jack went into the loft and changed into clean white duck.  They
109:093,12['  ]| came forth like$4$ new men, jerking their arms in$4$ the stiff starched sleeves.  And
109:093,13['  ]| they proceeded to$9$ light the many chinese lanterns hung in$4$ the barn, till the
109:093,14['  ]| great place was mellow with soft light.  Already in$4$ the forenoon they had
109:093,15['  ]| scraped candle ends on$5$ to$4$ the floor, and rubbed them in$5$.  Now they rubbed in$5$
109:093,16['  ]| the wax a little more, to$9$ get the proper slipperiness.
109:093,17['  ]| The light brought the people, like$4$ moths.  Of course the Reds were there,
109:093,18['  ]| brazen as brass.  They, too, had changed into white suits, tight around the calf
109:093,19['  ]| and hollow at their waist, and, for$4$ the moment, with high collars rising to$4$
109:093,20['  ]| their ears above the black cravats.  Also they sported elastic-sided boots of
109:093,21['  ]| patent leather, whereas most of the other fellows were in$4$ their heavy hob-nailed
109:093,22['  ]| boots, nicely blacked, indeed, but destitute of grace.  With their hair
109:093,23['  ]| brushed down in$4$ a curl over their foreheads, and their beards brushed apart,
109:093,24['  ]| their strong sinewy bodies filling out the white duck, they felt absolutely
109:093,25['  ]| invincible, and almost they looked it.  For$3$ Jack was growing blind to$4$ the rustic
109:093,26['  ]| absurdities, blinded by$4$ the animal force of these Australians.
109:093,27['  ]| Jack sat down by$4$ Herbert, who$6#1$ was pleasant and mild after his illness,
109:093,28['  ]| always a little shy with the English boy.  But the other Reds had taken
109:093,29['  ]| possession of the place.  Their bounce and their brass were astounding. Jack
109:093,30['  ]| watched them in$4$ wonder at their aggressive self-assertion.  They were real
109:093,31['  ]| bounders, more crude and more bouncy than ever the Old*Country could
109:093,32['  ]| produce.  But that$6#2$ was Australian.  The bulk of the people, perhaps, were
109:093,33['  ]| dumb and unassuming.  But there was always a proportion of real brassy
109:093,34['  ]| bounders, ready to$9$ walk over you and jump in$4$ your stomach, if you would let
109:093,35['  ]| them.
109:093,36['  ]| Easu had constituted himself Master of the Ceremonies, and we know
109:093,37['  ]| what an important post that$6#2$ is, in$4$ a country bean-feast.  Wherever he was, he
109:094,01['  ]| must be in$4$ the front, bossing and hectoring other people.  He had appointed
109:094,02['  ]| his brothers "stewards."  The Reds were to$9$ run the show.  There was to$9$ be but
109:094,03['  ]| one will$0$:  the will$0$ of the big, loose-jointed, domineering Easu, with his reddish
109:094,04['  ]| blonde beard brushed apart and his keen eyes spying everything with a slight
109:094,05['  ]| jeer.
109:094,06['  ]| Most of the guests, of course, were as they had been all day, in$4$ their Sunday
109:094,07['  ]| suits or new dungarees.  Joe*Low, trim in$4$ a clean cotton jacket, sat by$4$ the great
109:094,08['  ]| open doors very seriously blowing notes out of an old brass cornet, that$6#1$ had
109:094,09['  ]| belonged to$4$ his father, a retired sergeant of the Foot.  Near him, a half-caste
109:094,10['  ]| Huck was sliding a bow up$4$ and down a yellow-looking fiddle, while other
109:094,11['  ]| musicians stood with their instruments under their arms.  Outside in$4$ the
109:094,12['  ]| warm night bearded farmers smoked and talked.  Mammas sat on$4$ the forms
109:094,13['  ]| round the barn, and the girls, most of them fresh and gay in$4$ billowy cotton
109:094,14['  ]| frocks, clustered around in$4$ excitement.  It was the great day of all the year.
109:094,15['  ]| For$4$ the rest, most of the young men were leaning holding up$5$ the big
109:094,16['  ]| timber supports of the barn, or framing the great opening of the sliding
109:094,17['  ]| doors, which$6#1$ showed the enormous dark gap of the naked light.
109:094,18['  ]| Fire-eating Easu waved energetically to$4$ Joe, who$6#1$ blew a blast on$4$ the cornet.
109:094,19['  ]| This done, the strong but "common" Australian voice of Easu, shouted
109:094,20['  ]| effectively:
109:094,21[N  ]| "Take partners.  Get ready for$4$ the Grand*March."
109:094,22['  ]| For$3$ of course he plumed himself on$4$ doing everything in$4$ "style,"  everything
109:094,23['  ]| grand and correct, this Australian who$6#1$ so$5#1$ despised the effete Old*Country.
109:094,24['  ]| The rest of the Reds straight away marched to$4$ the sheepish and
109:094,25['  ]| awkward fellows who$6#1$ stood propped up$5$ against any available prop, seized
109:094,26['  ]| them by$4$ the arm, and rushed them up$5$ to$4$ some equally sheepish maiden.
109:094,27['  ]| And, instead of resenting it, the poor clowns were glad at being forced into
109:094,28['  ]| company.  They grinned and blushed and the girls giggled and bridled as
109:094,29['  ]| they coupled and arranged themselves, two by$4$ two, close behind one
109:094,30['  ]| another.
109:094,31['  ]| A blast of music.  Easu seized Monica, who$6#1$ was self-consciously waiting on$4$
109:094,32['  ]| the arm of another young fellow.  He just flung his arm around her waist and
109:094,33['  ]| heaved her to$4$ the head of the column.  Then the procession set off, Easu in$4$
109:094,34['  ]| front with his arm round Monica's waist, he shining with his own brass and
109:094,35['  ]| self-esteem, she looking falsely demure.  After them came the other couples,
109:094,36['  ]| self-conscious but extremely pleased with themselves, slowly marching
109:094,37['  ]| round the barn.
109:094,38['  ]| Jack, who$6#1$ had precipitated himself into the night rather than be hauled
109:094,39['  ]| into action by$4$ one of the Red stewards, stood and looked on$5$ from afar,
109:094,40['  ]| feeling out of it.  He felt out in$4$ the cold.  He hated Easu's common, gloating
109:094,41['  ]| self-satisfaction, there at the head with Monica.  Red cared nothing about
109:094,42['  ]| Monica, really.  Only she was the star of the evening, the chief girl, so$5#2$ he had
109:094,43['  ]| got her.  She was the chief girl for$4$ miles around.  And that$6#2$ was enough for$4$
109:094,44['  ]| Easu.  He was determined to$9$ leave his mark on$4$ her.
109:094,45['  ]| After the March, the girls went back to$4$ their mammas, the youths to$4$ their
109:095,01['  ]| shoulder-supports; and, following a pause, Easu again came into the middle
109:095,02['  ]| of the floor, and began bellowing instructions.  He was so$5#1$ pleased with the
109:095,03['  ]| sound of his own voice, when it was lifted in$4$ authority.  Everybody listened
109:095,04['  ]| with all their ears, afraid of disobeying Easu.
109:095,05['  ]| When the ovation was over, the boldest of the young men made a bee-line
109:095,06['  ]| for$4$ the prettiest girls, and there was a hubbub.  In$4$ a twinkling any girl whom
109:095,07['  ]| Jack would have deigned to$9$ dance with, was monopolised, only the poorest
109:095,08['  ]| remained.  Meanwhile the stewards were busy sorting the couples into
109:095,09['  ]| groups.
109:095,10['  ]| Jack could not dance.  He had not intended to$9$ dance.  But he did not at all
109:095,11['  ]| like$1$ being left out entirely, in$4$ oblivion as if he did not exist.  Not at all.  So$3$ he
109:095,12['  ]| drifted towards the group of youths in$4$ the doorway.  But he slid away again as
109:095,13['  ]| Ross*Ellis plunged in$5$, seized whom he could by$4$ the arm, and led them off to$4$
109:095,14['  ]| the crude and unprepossessing maidens left still unchosen.
109:095,15['  ]| He felt he would resent intensely being grabbed by$4$ the arm and hustled
109:095,16['  ]| into a partner by$4$ one of the Reds.
109:095,17@a   | What was to$9$ be done?  He seemed to$9$ be marooned in$4$ his own isolation like$4$
109:095,18@a   | some shipwrecked mariner:  and he was becoming aware of the size of his
109:095,19@a   | own hands and feet.  
109:095,19['  ]| He looked for$4$ Tom.  Tom was steering a stout but
109:095,20['  ]| willing mother into the swim, and Lennie, like$4$ a faithful little tug, was
109:095,21['  ]| following in$4$ his wake with a gentle but squint-eyed girl.
109:095,22['  ]| Jack became desperate.  He looked round quickly.  Mrs*Ellis was sitting
109:095,23['  ]| alone on$4$ a packing-case.  At the same moment he saw Ross*Ellis bearing down
109:095,24['  ]| on$4$ him with sardonic satisfaction.
109:095,25['  ]| Action was quicker than thought.  Jack stood bowing awkwardly before his
109:095,26['  ]| hostess.
109:095,27[A  ]| "Will$1$ not you do me the honour, Mrs%*Ellis?"
109:095,28[I  ]| "Oh, dear me!  Oh, dear, Jack*Grant!  But I believe I will$1$.  I never thought of
109:095,29[I  ]| such a thing.  But why not?  Yes, I will$1$, it will$1$ give me great pleasure.  We shall
109:095,30[I  ]| have to$9$ lead off, you know.  And I was supposed to$9$ lead with Easu, seeing my
109:095,31[I  ]| husband is not here.  But never mind, we will$1$ lead off, you and I, just as well."
109:095,32['  ]| She rose to$4$ her feet briskly, seeming young again.  Lately Jack thought she
109:095,33['  ]| seemed always to$9$ have some trouble on$4$ her mind.  For$4$ the moment she shook
109:095,34['  ]| it off.
109:095,35['  ]| As for$4$ him, he was panic-stricken.  He wished he could ascend into heaven;
109:095,36['  ]| or at least as high as the loft.
109:095,37[A  ]| "You will$1$ help me through, marm, will$1$ not you?"  
109:095,37['  ]| he said.  
109:095,37[A  ]| "This dance is new to$4$
109:095,38[A  ]| me."
109:095,39['  ]| And he bowed to$4$ her, and she bowed to$4$ him, and 
109:095,39@a   | it was horrible.  The
109:095,40@a   | horrible things people did for$4$ enjoyment!
109:095,41[I  ]| "This dance is new to$4$ him," 
109:095,41['  ]| Mrs*Ellis passed over his shoulder to$4$ a pretty
109:095,42['  ]| girl in$4$ pink.  
109:095,42[I  ]| "Help him through, Alice."
109:095,43['  ]| Feeling a fool, Jack turned and met a wide smile and a nod.  He bowed
109:095,44['  ]| confusedly.
109:095,45[V  ]| "I am your corner," 
109:095,45['  ]| said the girl.  
109:095,45[V  ]| "I will$1$ pass it on$5$ to$4$ Monica, she will$1$ be your
109:096,01[V  ]| vis-a-vis."
109:096,02[N  ]| "Pick up$5$ partners," 
109:096,02['  ]| Easu was yelling with his domineering voice.  
109:096,02[N  ]| "All in$4$
109:096,03[N  ]| place, please!  One more couple!  One more couple!"  
109:096,03['  ]| He was at the other end
109:096,04['  ]| of the barn, coming forward now, looking around like$4$ a general.  He was
109:096,05['  ]| coming for$4$ his aunt.
109:096,06[N  ]| "Ah!"  
109:096,06['  ]| he said when he saw Mrs*Ellis and Jack.  
109:096,06[N  ]| "You are dancing with Jack*Grant,
109:096,07[N  ]| Aunt*Jane?  Thought he could not dance."
109:096,08['  ]| And he straighway turned his back on$4$ them, looking for$4$ Monica.  Monica
109:096,09['  ]| was standing with a young man from York.
109:096,10[N  ]| "Monica, I want you," 
109:096,10['  ]| said Easu.  
109:096,10[N  ]| "You can find a girl there," 
109:096,10['  ]| he said,
109:096,11['  ]| nodding from the young fellow to$4$ a half-caste girl with fuzzy hair.  The
109:096,12['  ]| young fellow went white.  But Monica crossed over to$4$ Easu, for$3$ she was a
109:096,13['  ]| wicked little thing, and this evening she was hating Jack*Grant, the booby.
109:096,14[N  ]| "One more couple not needed," 
109:096,14['  ]| howled Easu.  
109:096,14[N  ]| "Top centre.  Where are
109:096,15[N  ]| you, Aunt*Jane?  Couple from here, lower centre, go to$4$ third set on$4$ left."
109:096,16['  ]| Easu was standing near the top.  He stepped backward, and down came his
109:096,17['  ]| heel on$4$ Jack's foot. Jack got away, but an angry light came into his eyes.  His
109:096,18['  ]| face, however, still kept that$6#2$ cherubic expression characteristic of it, and so$5#1$
109:096,19['  ]| ill-fitting his feelings.  Easu was staring over the room, and never even looked
109:096,20['  ]| round.
109:096,21[N  ]| "All in$4$ place?  \Music\!"  
109:096,21['  ]| cried the M%*C%
109:096,22['  ]| The music started with a crash and a bang, Mrs*Ellis had seized Jack's arm
109:096,23['  ]| and was leading him into the middle of the set.
109:096,24[I  ]| "Catch hands, Monica," 
109:096,24['  ]| she said.
109:096,25['  ]| He loved Monica's thin, nervous, impulsive hands.  His heart went hot as
109:096,26['  ]| he held them.  But Monica would not look at him.  She looked demurely
109:096,27['  ]| sideways.  But he felt the electric thrill that$6#1$ came to$4$ him from her hands, and
109:096,28['  ]| he did not want to$9$ let go.
109:096,29['  ]| She loosed his grasp and pushed him from her.
109:096,30[D  ]| "Get back to$4$ Ma," 
109:096,30['  ]| she whispered.  
109:096,30[D  ]| "Corner with Alice."
109:096,31@a   | "Oh, Lor!"   
109:096,31['  ]| thought Jack.  For$3$ he was cornered and grabbed and twisted by$4$
109:096,32['  ]| the girl with the wide smile, before he was let go to$9$ fall into place beside Ma,
109:096,33['  ]| panting with a sort of exasperation.
109:096,34@a   | So$3$ it continued, grabbing and twisting and twirling, all perfectly ridiculous
109:096,35@a   | and undignified.  Why, oh, why did human beings do it!  Yet it was better than
109:096,36@a   | being left out.  
109:096,36['  ]| He was half-pleased with himself.
109:096,37@a   | Something hard and vicious dug him in$4$ the ribs.  It was the elbow of Easu,
109:096,38@a   | who$6#1$ passed skipping like$4$ a goat.
109:096,39@a   | Was Easu making a dead set at him?  
109:096,39['  ]| The devil's own anger began to$9$ rise in$4$
109:096,40['  ]| the boy's heart, bringing up$5$ with it all the sullen dare-devil that$6#1$ was in$4$ him.
109:096,41['  ]| When he was roused, he cared for$4$ nothing in$4$ earth or heaven.  But his face
109:096,42['  ]| remained cherubic.
109:096,43[I  ]| "Follow!"  
109:096,43['  ]| said a gentle voice.  Perhaps it was all a mistake.  He found
109:096,44['  ]| himself back by$4$ Mrs*Ellis, watching other folks prance.  There he stood and
109:096,45['  ]| mopped his brow, in$4$ the hot, hot night.  He was wet with sweat all over.  But
109:097,01['  ]| before he could wipe his face the pink Alice had caught and twirled him,
109:097,02['  ]| taking him unawares.  He waited alert.  
109:097,02@a   | Nothing happened.  Actually peace
109:097,03@a   | for$4$ a few seconds.
109:097,04@a   | The music stopped.  Perhaps it was over.  Oh, enjoyment!  Why did people
109:097,05@a   | do such things to$9$ enjoy themselves?  Only he would have liked to$9$ hold
109:097,06@a   | Monica's thin, keen hands again.  The thin, keen, wild, wistful Monica.  He
109:097,07@a   | would like$1$ to$9$ be near her.
109:097,08@a   | Easu was bawling something.  Figure Number*Two.  He could not listen to$4$
109:097,09@a   | instructions in$4$ Easu's voice.
109:097,10@a   | They were dancing again, and he knew no$2$ more than at first what he was
109:097,11@a   | doing.  All a maze.  
109:097,11['  ]| A natural diffidence and a dislike of being touched by$4$ a
109:097,12['  ]| casual stranger made dancing unpleasant to$4$ him.  But he kept up$5$.  And
109:097,13['  ]| suddenly he found himself with  Monica folded in$4$ his arms, and she clinged
109:097,14['  ]| to$4$ him with sudden fierce young abandon.  His heart stood still, as he realised
109:097,15['  ]| that$3$ not only did he want to$9$ hold her hands ~~ he had thought it was just that$6#2$;
109:097,16['  ]| but he wanted to$9$ hold her altogether in$4$ his arms.  Terrible and embarrassing
109:097,17['  ]| thought!  He wished himself on$4$ the moon, to$9$ escape his new emotions.  At the
109:097,18['  ]| same time there was the instantaneous pang of disappointment as she broke
109:097,19['  ]| away from him.  
109:097,19@a   | Why could she not have stayed!  And, why, oh, why, were
109:097,20@a   | they both doing this beastly dancing!
109:097,21['  ]| He received a clean clear kick on$4$ the shin as he passed Easu. Dazed with a
109:097,22['  ]| confusion of feelings, keenest among which$6#1$ perhaps was anger, he pulled up$5$
109:097,23['  ]| again beside Ma.  And there was Monica suddenly in$4$ his arms again.
109:097,24[A  ]| "You always go again," 
109:097,24['  ]| he said in$4$ a vague murmur.
109:097,25[D  ]| "What did you say?"  
109:097,25['  ]| she asked archly, as she floated from him, just at the
109:097,26['  ]| moment when Easu jolted him roughly.  Across the little distance she was
109:097,27['  ]| watching the hot anger in$4$ the boy's confused, dark-blue eyes.
109:097,28@a   | Another pause.  More beastly instructions.  Different music.  Different
109:097,29@a   | evolutions.
109:097,30@a   | "Steady now!"  
109:097,30['  ]| he said to$4$ himself, trying to$9$ make his way in$4$ the new figure.
109:097,31@a   | But what work it was!  
109:097,31['  ]| He tried to$9$ keep his brain steady.  But Ma on$4$ his arm
109:097,32['  ]| was heavy as lead.
109:097,33['  ]| And then, with great ease and perfect abandon, in$4$ spite of her years, Ma
109:097,34['  ]| threw herself on$4$ his left bosom and reclined in$4$ peace there.  He was overcome.
109:097,35['  ]| She seemed absolutely to$9$ like$1$ resting on$4$ his bosom.
109:097,36[I  ]| "Throw out your right hand, dear boy," 
109:097,36['  ]| she whispered, and before he
109:097,37['  ]| knew he had done it, Easu had seized his hand in$4$ a big, brutal, bullying grasp,
109:097,38['  ]| and was grinding his knuckles.  And then sixteen people began to$9$ spin.
109:097,39['  ]| The startled agony of it made a different man of him.  For$3$ Ma was heavy as
109:097,40['  ]| a log on$4$ his left side, clinging to$4$ him as if she liked to$9$ cling to$4$ his body.  He
109:097,41['  ]| never quite forgave her.  And Easu had his unprotected right hand gripped
109:097,42['  ]| in$4$ a vice and was torturing him on$4$ purpose with the weight and the grind.
109:097,43['  ]| Jack's hands were naturally small, and Easu's were big.  
109:097,43@a   | And to$9$ be gripped by$4$
109:097,44@a   | that$6#2$ great malicious paw was horrible.  Oh, the tension, the pain and rage of
109:097,45@a   | that$6#2$ giddy-go-rounding, first forward, then abruptly backwards.  
109:097,45['  ]| It broke
109:098,01['  ]| some of his innocence for*ever.
109:098,02['  ]| But although paralytic with rage when released, Jack's face still looked
109:098,03['  ]| innocent and cherubic.  He had that$6#2$ sort of face, and that$6#2$ diabolic sort of
109:098,04['  ]| stoicism.  Mrs*Ellis thought:  
109:098,04@i   | "What a nice, kind boy!  but late waking up$5$ to$4$ the
109:098,05@i   | facts of life!"  
109:098,05['  ]| She thought he had not even noticed Easu's behaviour.  And
109:098,06['  ]| again she thought to$4$ herself 
109:098,06@i   | her husband would be jealous if he saw her.
109:098,07@i   | Poor old Jacob!  
109:098,07['  ]| Aloud she said:
109:098,08[I  ]| "The next is the last figure.  You are doing very well, Jack.  You go off round
109:098,09[I  ]| the ring, now, handing the ladies first your right and then your left hand."
109:098,10['  ]| He felt no$2$ desire to$9$ hand anybody his hand.  But in$4$ the middle of the ring
109:098,11['  ]| he met Monica, and her slim graps took his hurt hand, and seemed to$9$ heal it
109:098,12['  ]| for$4$ a moment.
109:098,13['  ]| Easu grabbed his arm, and he saw three others, suffering fools gladly,
109:098,14['  ]| locked arm in$4$ arm, playing soldiers, as they called it.  
109:098,14@a   | Oh God!  
109:098,14['  ]| Easu, much
109:098,15['  ]| taller than Jack, was twisting his arm abominably, almost pulling it out of the
109:098,16['  ]| socket.  And Jack was saving up$5$ his anger.
109:098,17@a   | It was over.  
109:098,17[I  ]| "That$6#2$ was very kind of you, my dear boy," 
109:098,17['  ]| Mrs*Ellis was saying.
109:098,18[I  ]| "I have not enjoyed a dance so$5#1$ much for$4$ years."
109:098,19@a   | Enjoyed!  That$6#2$ ghastly word!  Why would people insist on$4$ enjoying themselves
109:098,20@a   | in$4$ these awful ways!  Why "enjoy" oneself at all?  He did not see it.  He
109:098,21@a   | decided he did not care for$4$ enjoyment, it was not natural to$4$ him.  Too humiliating,
109:098,22@a   | for$4$ one thing.
109:098,23@a   | Twenty steps envolved in$4$ the black skirts of Mrs*Ellis, and he was politely
109:098,24@a   | rid of her.  She was very nice.  And by$4$ some mystery she had really enjoyed
109:098,25@a   | herself in$4$ this awful melee.  He gave it up$5$.  She was too distant in$4$ years and
109:098,26@a   | experience for$4$ him to$9$ try to$9$ understand her.  Did these people never have
109:098,27@a   | living anger, like$4$ a bright black snake with unclosing eyes, at the bottom of
109:098,28@a   | their souls?  Apparently not.
109:098,00[U  ]| <ii>
109:098,29['  ]| There was an interval in$4$ the dancing, and they were having games.  Red was,
109:098,30['  ]| of course, still bawling out instructions and directions, being the colonel of
109:098,31['  ]| the feast.  He was in$4$ his element, playing top sawyer.
109:098,32['  ]| The next game was to$9$ be "Modern*Proposals."  It sounded rotten to$4$ Jack.
109:098,33['  ]| Each young man was to$9$ make an original proposal to$4$ an appointed girl.
109:098,34['  ]| Great giggling and squirming even at the mention of it.
109:098,35['  ]| Easu still held the middle of the floor.  Jack thought it was time to$9$ butt in$5$.
109:098,36['  ]| With his hands in$4$ his pockets he walked coolly into the middle of the room.
109:098,37[A  ]| "You people do not know me, and I do not know you," 
109:098,37['  ]| he found himself
109:098,38['  ]| announcing in$4$ his clear English voice.  
109:098,38[A  ]| "Supposing I call this game."
109:098,39['  ]| Carried Unanimously!
109:098,40['  ]| The young men lined up$5$, and Easu, after standing loose on$4$ his legs for$4$
109:098,41['  ]| some time just behind Jack, went and sat down somewhat discomfited.
109:099,01['  ]| Jack pushed Tom on$5$ to$4$ his knees before the prettiest girl in$4$ the room ~~ the
109:099,02['  ]| prettiest strange girl, anyhow.  Tom, furiously embarrassed on$4$ his knees,
109:099,03['  ]| stammered:
109:099,04[H  ]| "I say!  There is a considerable pile of socks wantin' darning in$4$ my ol' camp.
109:099,05[H  ]| I would go so$5#1$ far as to$9$ face the parson, if you would do them for$4$ me."
109:099,06['  ]| It was beautifully non-committal.  For$3$ all the Bushies were at heart terrified
109:099,07['  ]| lest they might by$4$ accident contract a Scotch marriage, and be held
109:099,08['  ]| accountable for$4$ it.
109:099,09['  ]| Jack was amused by$4$ the odd, humorous expression of the young bush-farmers,
109:099,10['  ]| Joe*Low, scratching his head funnily, said:  
109:099,10[W  ]| "I will$1$ put the pot on$5$, if
109:099,11[W  ]| you will$1$ cook the stew."  
109:099,11['  ]| But the most approved proposal was that$6#2$ of a well-to-do
109:099,12['  ]| young farmer who$6#1$ is now a J%*P%, and head of a prosperous family.
109:099,13[W  ]| "Me ol' dad and me ol' lady, they never had no$2$ daughters.  They gettin' on$5$
109:099,14[W  ]| well in$4$ years, and they kind of fancy one.  I have gotter get them one, quick and
109:099,15[W  ]| lively.  I have fifteen head of cattle and seventy-six sheep, eighteen pigs and a
109:099,16[W  ]| fallowin' sow.  I have got one hundred and ninety-nine acres of cleared land, and
109:099,17[W  ]| ten improved with fruit trees.  I have got forty ducks and hens and a flock of
109:099,18[W  ]| geese, and no*one home to$9$ feed them.  Meet me Sunday morning;, eight-forty
109:099,19[W  ]| sharp, at the cross roads, and I will$1$ be there in$4$ me old sulky to$9$ drive you out and
109:099,20[W  ]| show you."
109:099,21['  ]| And the girl in$4$ pink, with a wide smile, answered seriously:
109:099,22[V  ]| "I will$1$ if Mother will$1$ let me, Mr*Burton."
109:099,23['  ]| The next girl had been looming up$5$ like$4$ a big coal-barge.  She was a
109:099,24['  ]| half-caste, of course named Lily, and she sat aggressively forwards, her long
109:099,25['  ]| elbows and wrists much in$4$ evidence, and her pleasant swarthy face alight and
109:099,26['  ]| eager with anticipation.  Oh, these Missioner half-castes!
109:099,27['  ]| Jack ordered Easu forward.
109:099,28['  ]| But Easu was not to$9$ be baited.  He strode over, put his hand on$4$ the fuzzy
109:099,29['  ]| head, and said in$4$ his strong voice:
109:099,30[N  ]| "Hump your bluey and come home."
109:099,31['  ]| The laugh was with him, he had won again.
109:099,00[U  ]| <iii>
109:099,32['  ]| They went down to$4$ the cold collation.  There Jack found other arrivals.  Mary
109:099,33['  ]| had come in$5$ via York with Gran's spinster daughters.  Also the Greenlow girls
109:099,34['  ]| from away back, and they made a great fuss of him.  The doctor, too, turned
109:099,35['  ]| up$5$.  He had been missing all day, but now he strolled back and forth, chatting
109:099,36['  ]| politely first to$4$ one and then another, but vague and washed-out to$4$ a degree.
109:099,37['  ]| Jack's anger coiled to$9$ rest at the supper, for$3$ Monica was very attentive to$4$
109:099,38['  ]| him.  She sat next to$4$ him, found him the best pieces, and shared her glass with
109:099,39['  ]| him, in$4$ her quick, dangerous, generous fashion, looking up$5$ at him with
109:099,40['  ]| strange wide looks of offering, so$3$ that$3$ he felt very manly and very shy at the
109:100,01['  ]| same time.  But very glad to$9$ be near her.  He felt that$3$ it was his spell that$6#1$ was
109:100,02['  ]| upon$4$ her, after all, and though he did not really like$1$ flirting with her there in$4$
109:100,03['  ]| the public supper*room, he loved her hand finding his under the cover of
109:100,04['  ]| her sash, and her fingers twining into his as if she was entering into his body.
109:100,05['  ]| Safely under the cover of her silk sash.  He would have liked to$9$ hold her
109:100,06['  ]| again, close, close; her agile, live body, quick as a cat's.  She was mysterious to$4$
109:100,07['  ]| him as some cat-goddess, and she excited him in$4$ a queer electric fashion.
109:100,08['  ]| But soon she was gone again, elusive as a cat.  And, of course, she was in$4$
109:100,09['  ]| great request.  So$3$ Jack found himself talking to$4$ the little elderly Mary, with
109:100,10['  ]| her dark animal's \9museau\.  Mary was like$4$ another kind of cat:  not the panther
109:100,11['  ]| sort, but the quiet, dark, knowing sort.  She was comfortable to$9$ talk to$4$, also,
109:100,12['  ]| soft and stimulating.
109:100,13['  ]| Jack and Mary sat on$4$ the edge of the barn, in$4$ the hot night, looking at the
109:100,14['  ]| trees against the strange, ragged southern sky, hearing the frogs occasionally,
109:100,15['  ]| and fighting the mosquitoes.  Mrs*Ellis also sat on$4$ the ledge not far off.
109:100,16['  ]| And presently Jack and Mary were joined by$4$ the doctor.  Then came Grace
109:100,17['  ]| and Alec*Rice, sitting a little farther down, and talking in$4$ low tones.  The
109:100,18['  ]| night seemed full of low, half-mysterious talking, in$4$ a starry darkness that$6#1$
109:100,19['  ]| seemed pregnant with the scent and presence of the black people.  Jack often
109:100,20['  ]| wondered why, in$4$ the night, the country still seemed to$9$ belong to$4$ the black
109:100,21['  ]| people, with their strange big, liquid eyes.
109:100,22@a   | Where was Easu?  Was he talking to$4$ Monica?  Or to$4$ the black half-caste Lily?
109:100,23@a   | It might as well be the one as the other.  The odd way he had placed his hand
109:100,24@a   | on$4$ Lily's black fuzzy head, as if he were master, and she a sort of concubine.
109:100,25@a   | She would give him all the submission he wanted.
109:100,26@a   | But then, why Monica?  Monica in$4$ her white, full-skirted frock with its
109:100,27@a   | moulded bodice, her slender, golden-white arms and throat!  Why Monica in$4$
109:100,28@a   | the same class with the half-caste Lily?
109:100,29['  ]| Anger against Easu was sharpening Jack's wits, and curiously detaching
109:100,30['  ]| him from his surroundings.  He listened to$4$ the Australian voices and the
109:100,31['  ]| Australian accent around him.  The careless, slovenly speech in$4$ the uncontrolled,
109:100,32['  ]| slack, caressive voices.  At first he had thought the accent awful.  And
109:100,33['  ]| it \was\ awful.  But gradually, as he got into the rhythm of the people, he began
109:100,34['  ]| to$9$ sympathise with "Kytie" instead of "Katie,"  
109:100,34@a   | There was an abandon in$4$
109:100,35@a   | it all ~~ an abandon of restrictions and confining control.  Why have control?
109:100,36@a   | Why have authority?  Why not let everybody do as they liked?  Why not?
109:100,37@a   | That$6#2$ was what Australia was for$4$, a careless freedom.  An easy, unrestricted
109:100,38@a   | freedom.  At least out in$4$ the bush.  Every man to$9$ do as he liked.  Easu to$9$ run
109:100,39@a   | round with Monica, or with the black Lily, or to$9$ kick Jack's shins in$4$ the dance.
109:100,40@a   | Yes, even this.  But Jack had scored it up$5$.  He was going to$9$ have his own
109:100,41@a   | back on$4$ Easu.  
109:100,41['  ]| He thought of Easu with his hand on$4$ the black girl's fuzzy
109:100,42['  ]| head.  
109:100,42@a   | That$6#2$ would be just like$4$ Easu.  And afterwards to$9$ want Monica.  And
109:100,43@a   | Monica would not really mind about the black girl.  Since Easu was Easu.
109:100,44['  ]| Sitting there on$4$ the barn ledge, Jack in$4$ a vague way understood it all.  And
109:100,45['  ]| in$4$ a vague way tolerated it all.  But with a dim fecund germ of revenge in$4$ his
109:101,01['  ]| heart.  He was not morally shocked.  But he was going to$9$ be revenged.  He did
109:101,02['  ]| not mind Easu's running with a black girl, and afterwards Monica.  Morally
109:101,03['  ]| he did not mind it.  But physically ~~ perhaps pride of race ~~ he minded.
109:101,04['  ]| Physically he could never go so$5#1$ far as to$9$ lay his hand on$4$ the darky's fuzzy
109:101,05['  ]| head.  His pride of blood was too intense.
109:101,06['  ]| He had no$2$ objection at all to$4$ Lily, until it came to$4$ actual physical contact.
109:101,07['  ]| And then his blood recoiled with old haughtiness and pride of race.  It was
109:101,08['  ]| bad enough to$9$ have to$9$ come into contact with a woman of his own race; to$9$
109:101,09['  ]| have to$9$ give himself away even so$5#1$ far.  The other was impossible.
109:101,10['  ]| And yet he wanted Monica.  But he knew she was fooling round with Easu.
109:101,11['  ]| So$3$ deep in$4$ his soul formed the motive of revenge.
109:101,12['  ]| There are times when a flood of realisation and purpose sweeps through a
109:101,13['  ]| man.  This was one of Jack's times.  He was not definitely conscious of what he
109:101,14['  ]| realised and of what he purposed.  Yet, there it was, resolved in$4$ him.
109:101,15['  ]| He was trying not to$9$ hear Dr*Rackett's voice talking to$4$ Mary.  Even Dr*Rackett
109:101,16['  ]| was losing his Oxford drawl, and taking on$5$ some of the Australian
109:101,17['  ]| ding-dong.  But Rackett, like$4$ Jack, was absolutely fixed in$4$ his pride of race,
109:101,18['  ]| no$2$ matter what extraneous vice he might have.  Jack had a vague idea it was
109:101,19['  ]| opium.  Some chemical stuff.
109:101,20[Q  ]| " ~~ free run of old*George's books?  I should say it was a doubtful
109:101,21[Q  ]| privilege for$4$ a young lady.  But you hardly seem to$9$ belong to$4$ West*Australia.  I
109:101,22[Q  ]| think England is really your place.  Do you actually \want\ to$9$ belong, may I
109:101,23[Q  ]| ask?"
109:101,24[B  ]| "To$4$ Western*Australia?  To$4$ the \country\, yes, very much.  I love the land, the
109:101,25[B  ]| country life, Dr*Rackett.  I do not care for$4$ the social life of a town like$4$ Perth.
109:101,26[B  ]| But I should like$1$ to$9$ live all my life on$4$ a farm ~~ in$4$ the bush."
109:101,27[Q  ]| "Would you now?"  
109:101,27['  ]| said Rackett.  
109:101,27[Q  ]| "I wonder where you get that$6#2$ idea from.
109:101,28[Q  ]| You are the grand-daughter of an earl."
109:101,29[B  ]| "Oh, my grandfather is further away from me than the moon.  You would
109:101,30[B  ]| never know \how\ far!"  
109:101,30['  ]| laughed Mary.  
109:101,30[B  ]| "No$7$, I am colonial born and bred.
109:101,31[B  ]| Though, of course, there is a fascination about the English.  But I hardly
109:101,32[B  ]| knew Papa.  He was a tenth child, so$3$ there was not much of the earldom left to$4$
109:101,33[B  ]| him.  And then he was busy A%*D%*C% to$4$ the Governor-General.  And he
109:101,34[B  ]| married quite late in$4$ life.  And then Mother died when I was little, and I got
109:101,35[B  ]| passed on$5$ to$4$ Aunt*Matilda.  Mother was Australian born.  I do not think there
109:101,36[B  ]| is much English in$4$ me."
109:101,37['  ]| Mary said it in$4$ a queer complacent way, as if there were some peculiar,
109:101,38['  ]| subtle antagonism between England and the colonial, and she was ranged on$4$
109:101,39['  ]| the colonial side.  As if she were subtle enemy of the father, the English father
109:101,40['  ]| in$4$ her.
109:101,41[Q  ]| "Queer!  Queer thing to$4$ me!"  
109:101,41['  ]| said Rackett, as if he half felt the antagonism.
109:101,42['  ]| For$3$ he would never be colonial, not if he lived another hundred years in$4$
109:101,43['  ]| Australia.  
109:101,43[Q  ]| "I suppose," 
109:101,43['  ]| he added, pointing his pipe-stem upwards, 
109:101,43[Q  ]| "it comes
109:101,44[Q  ]| from those unnatural stars up$4$ there.  I always feel they are doing something
109:101,45[Q  ]| to$4$ me."
109:102,01[B  ]| "I do not think it is the stars," 
109:102,01['  ]| laughed Mary.  
109:102,01[B  ]| "I am just Australian, in$4$ the
109:102,02[B  ]| biggest part of me, that$6#2$ is all."
109:102,03['  ]| Jack could feel in$4$ the statement some of the antagonism that$6#1$ burned in$4$ his
109:102,04['  ]| own heart, against his own country, his own father, his own empty fate at
109:102,05['  ]| home.
109:102,06[A  ]| "If I had been born in$4$ this country, I would stick to$4$ it," 
109:102,06['  ]| he broke in$5$.
109:102,07[Q  ]| "But since you were not born in$4$ it, what will$1$ you do, Grant?"  
109:102,07['  ]| asked the
109:102,08['  ]| doctor ironically.
109:102,09[A  ]| "Stick to$4$ myself," 
109:102,09['  ]| said Jack stubbornly, rather sulkily.
109:102,10[Q  ]| "You will$1$ not stick to$4$ Old*England, then?"  
109:102,10['  ]| asked Rackett.
109:102,11[A  ]| "Seems I am a misfit in$4$ Old*England," 
109:102,11['  ]| said Jack.  
109:102,11[A  ]| "And I am not going to$9$
109:102,12[A  ]| squeeze my feet into tight boots."
109:102,13['  ]| Rackett laughed.
109:102,14[Q  ]| "Rather go barefoot like$4$ Lennie?"  
109:102,14['  ]| he laughed.
109:102,15['  ]| Jack relapsed into silence, and turned a deaf ear, looking into the alien
109:102,16['  ]| night of the southern hemisphere.  And having turned a deaf ear to$4$ Rackett
109:102,17['  ]| and Mary, he heard, as if by$4$ divination, the low voice of Alec*Rice proposing
109:102,18['  ]| in$4$ real earnest to$4$ Grace:  proposing in$4$ a low, urgent voice that$6#1$ sounded like$4$ a
109:102,19['  ]| conspiracy.
109:102,20['  ]| He rose to$9$ go away.  But Mary laid a detaining hand on$4$ his arm, as if she
109:102,21['  ]| wished to$9$ include him in$4$ the conversation, and did not wish to$9$ be left alone
109:102,22['  ]| with Dr*Rackett.
109:102,23[B  ]| "Do not you sympathise with me, Jack, for$4$ wishing I had been a boy, to$9$
109:102,24[B  ]| make my own way in$4$ the world, and have my own friends, and size things up$5$
109:102,25[B  ]| for$4$ myself?"
109:102,26[A  ]| "Seems to$4$ me you do size things up$5$ for$4$ yourself," 
109:102,26['  ]| said Jack rather crossly.
109:102,27[A  ]| "A great deal more than most \men\ do."
109:102,28[B  ]| "Yes, but I can not \do\ things as I could if I were a man."
109:102,29[Q  ]| "What \can\ a man do, then, more than a woman ~~ that$6#1$ is worth doing?"
109:102,30['  ]| asked Rackett.
109:102,31[B  ]| "He can see the world, and love as he wishes to$9$ love, and work."
109:102,32[Q  ]| "No$2$ man can love as he wishes to$9$ love," 
109:102,32['  ]| said Rackett.  
109:102,32[Q  ]| "He is nearly always
109:102,33[Q  ]| stumped, in$4$ the love game."
109:102,34[B  ]| "But he can \choose\!"  
109:102,34['  ]| persisted Mary.
109:102,35['  ]| And Jack with his other ear was hearing Alec*Rice's low voice persisting:
109:102,36[W  ]| "Go on$5$, Grace, you are not too young.  You are just right.  You are just the
109:102,37[W  ]| ticket now.  Go on$5$, let us be engaged and tell your Dad and fix it up$5$.  We are
109:102,38[W  ]| meant for$4$ one another, you know we are.  Do not you think we are meant for$4$
109:102,39[W  ]| one another?"
109:102,40[E  ]| "But I never thought about it that$6#2$ way, truly."
109:102,41[W  ]| "But do not you think so$5#2$ now?  Yes, you do."
109:102,42['  ]| Silence ~~ the sort that$6#1$ gives consent.  And the silence of a young, spontaneous
109:102,43['  ]| embrace.
109:102,44['  ]| Jack was on$4$ tenterhooks.  
109:102,44@a   | He wanted to$9$ be gone.  But Mary was persisting,
109:102,45@a   | in$4$ her obstinate voice ~~ he wished she would shut up$5$, too.
109:103,01[B  ]| "I wanted to$9$ be a sailor at ten, and an explorer at twelve.  At nineteen I
109:103,02[B  ]| wanted to$9$ become a painter of wonderful pictures with very noble subjects."
109:103,03['  ]| Jack wished she would not say all this.  
109:103,03[B  ]| "And then I had a streak of humility,
109:103,04[B  ]| and wanted to$9$ be a gardener.  Yet" 
109:103,04['  ]| ~~ she laughed ~~ 
109:103,04[B  ]| "not a sort of gardener
109:103,05[B  ]| such as Aunt*Matilda hires.  I wanted to$9$ grow things and see them come up$5$
109:103,06[B  ]| out of the earth.  And see baby chicks hatched, and calves and lambs born."
109:103,07['  ]| She had lifted her hand from Jack's sleeve, to$4$ his relief.
109:103,08[A  ]| "Then marry a farmer like$4$ Tom," 
109:103,08['  ]| he said roughly.  Mary received this with
109:103,09['  ]| dead silence.
109:103,10[Q  ]| "And drudge your soul away like$4$ Mrs*Ellis," 
109:103,10['  ]| said Rackett.  
109:103,10[Q  ]| "Worn out
109:103,11[Q  ]| before your time, between babies and heavy house-work.  Groping on$4$ the
109:103,12[Q  ]| earth all your life, grinding yourself into ugliness at work which$6#1$ some animal
109:103,13[Q  ]| of a servant-lass would do with half the effort.  Do not you think of it, Miss*Mary.
109:103,14[Q  ]| Let the servant lasses marry the farmers.  You have got too much in$4$ you.
109:103,15[Q  ]| Do not go and have what you have got in$4$ you trampled out of you by$4$ marrying
109:103,16[Q  ]| some cocky farmer.  Tom is as good as gold, but he wants a brawny lass of his
109:103,17[Q  ]| own sort for$4$ a wife.  You be careful, Miss*Mary.  Women can find themselves
109:103,18[Q  ]| in$4$ ugly harness, out here in$4$ these god-forsaken colonies.  Worse harness than
109:103,19[Q  ]| any you have ever kicked against."
109:103,20['  ]| Monica seemed to$9$ have scented the tense atmosphere under the barn, for$3$
109:103,21['  ]| she appeared like$4$ a young witch, in$4$ a whirlwind.
109:103,22[D  ]| "Hello, Mary!  Hello, Dr*Rackett!  It is just on$4$ midnight."  
109:103,22['  ]| And she flitted
109:103,23['  ]| over to$4$ Grace.  
109:103,23[D  ]| "Just on$4$ midnight, Grace and Alec.  Are you coming?  You
109:103,24[D  ]| seem as if you were fixed here."
109:103,25[W  ]| "We are not fixed on$4$ the spot, but we are fixed up$5$ all right, otherwise," 
109:103,25['  ]| said
109:103,26['  ]| Alex, in$4$ a slight tone of resentment, as he rose from Grace's side.
109:103,27[D  ]| "Oh, have you and Grace fixed it up$5$!"  
109:103,27['  ]| exclaimed Monica, with a false
109:103,28['  ]| vagueness and innocence.  
109:103,28[D  ]| "I am awfully glad.  I am awfully glad, Grace."
109:103,29[E  ]| "I am," 
109:103,29['  ]| said Grace, with a faint touch of resentment, and she rose and took
109:103,30['  ]| Alec's arm.
109:103,31['  ]| They were already like$4$ a married couple armed against that$6#2$ witch.  
109:103,31@a   | Had
109:103,32@a   | she been flirting with Alec, and then pushed him over on$5$ to$4$ Grace?  
109:103,32['  ]| Jack
109:103,33['  ]| sensed it with the sixth sense which$6#1$ divines these matters.
109:103,34['  ]| Monica appeared at his side.
109:103,35[D  ]| "It is just twelve.  Come and hold my hand in$4$ the ring.  Mary can hold your
109:103,36[D  ]| other hand.  Come on$5$!  Come on$5$, Alec, as well.  I do not want any strangers next
109:103,37[D  ]| to$4$ me to-night."
109:103,38['  ]| Jack smiled sardonically to$4$ himself as she impulsively caught hold of his
109:103,39['  ]| hand.  Monica was 
109:103,39@j   | "a circumstance over which$6#1$ we have no$2$ control," 
109:103,39['  ]| Lennie
109:103,40['  ]| said.  Jack felt that$3$ he had a certain control.
109:103,41['  ]| They all took hands as she directed, and moved into the barn to$9$ link up$5$
109:103,42['  ]| with the rest of the chain.  There, in$4$ the soft light of the big chamber, Easu
109:103,43['  ]| suddenly appeared, without collar or cravat, his hair ruffled, his white suit
109:103,44['  ]| considerably creased.  But he lurched up$5$ in$4$ his usual aggresive way, with his
109:103,45['  ]| assertive good humour, demanding to$9$ break in$4$ between Jack and Monica.
109:104,01['  ]| Jack held on$5$, and Monica said:
109:104,02[D  ]| "You must not break in$5$, you know it makes enemies."
109:104,03[N  ]| "Does it!"  
109:104,03['  ]| grinned Easu.  And with sardonic good humour he lurched away
109:104,04['  ]| to$4$ an unjoined part of the ring.  He carried about with him a sense of hostile
109:104,05['  ]| power.  But Jack was learning to$9$ keep within himself another sort of power,
109:104,06['  ]| small and concentrated and fixed like$4$ a stone, the sort of power that$6#1$ ultimately
109:104,07['  ]| would break through the bulk of Easu's domineering.
109:104,08['  ]| The ring completed at last, they all began to$9$ sing:  "Cheer, boys, cheer!":  and
109:104,09['  ]| "God Bless the Prince*of*Wales,"  "John*Brown's*Body," and "Britons*Never*Never*Never."
109:104,10['  ]|
109:104,11['  ]| Then Easu bawled:  
109:104,11[N  ]| "Midnight!"  
109:104,11['  ]| There was a moment's frightened pause.
109:104,12['  ]| Joe*Low blasted on$4$ the cornet, his toe beating time madly all the while.
109:104,13['  ]| Fiddles, whistles, concertinas, Jew's harps raggedly began to$9$ try out the tune.
109:104,14['  ]| The clasped hands began to$9$ rock, and taking Easu's shouting lead, they all
109:104,15['  ]| began to$9$ sing in$4$ the ring:
109:104,16@z   | "Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
109:104,17@z   | And never brought to$4$ min'?
109:104,18@z   | Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
109:104,19@z   | And the days of auld lang syne?
109:104,00[U  ]|
109:104,20@z   | For$4$ auld lang syne, my dear,
109:104,21@z   | For$4$ auld lang syne,
109:104,22@z   | We will$1$ tak' a cup of kindness yet
109:104,23@z   | For$4$ the days of auld lang syne."
109:104,24['  ]| They all sang heartily and with feeling.  There was a queer Scottish tang in$4$
109:104,25['  ]| the colony, that$6#1$ made the Scottish emotion dominant.  Jack disliked it.  
109:104,25@a   | There
109:104,26@a   | was no$2$ auld acquaintance, or auld lang syne, at least for$4$ him.  And he did not
109:104,27@a   | care for$4$ these particular cups of kindness, in$4$ one ring with Easu, black Lily,
109:104,28@a   | Dr*Rackett, and Monica, and all.  He did not like$1$ the chain of emotion and
109:104,29@a   | supposed pathetic clanship.  It was worse here even than on$4$ shipboard.
109:104,30@a   | Why start the New*Year like$4$ this?  As a matter of fact he wanted to$9$ forget
109:104,31@a   | most of his own Auld Acquaintance, and start something a little different.
109:104,32@a   | And any rate, the emotion was spurious, the chain was artificial, the flow was
109:104,33@a   | false.
109:104,34@a   | Monica seemed to$9$ take a wicked pleasure in$4$ it, and sang more emotionally
109:104,35@a   | than anybody, in$4$ a sweet but smallish voice.  And poor little Mary, with her
109:104,36@a   | half audible murmur, had her eyes full of tears and seemed so$5#1$ moved.
109:104,37@a   | Auld Lang syne!
109:104,38@a   | Old Long Since.
109:104,39@a   | Why not put it in$4$ plain English?
109:104,00[U  ]| <iv>
109:104,40['  ]| The celebration did not end with Auld*Lang*Syne.  By$4$ half-past two most of
109:104,41['  ]| the ladies had retired, though some ardent dancers still footed the floor, and
109:104,42['  ]| a chaperone or two, like$4$ crumpled rag-bags, slept on$4$ their boxes.  A good
109:105,01['  ]| number of young men and boys were asleep with Herbert on$4$ the sacks,
109:105,02['  ]| handkerchiefs knotted round their throats in$4$ place of collars.  The concertina,
109:105,03['  ]| the cornet, the fiddles and the rest of the band had gone down to$9$
109:105,04['  ]| demolish the remains of the cold collation, whilst Tom, Ross, and Ned sat on$4$
109:105,05['  ]| the barn steps singing as uproariously as they could, though a little hoarse,
109:105,06['  ]| for$4$ the last dancers to$9$ dance to$4$.  Someone was whistling very sweetly.
109:105,07@a   | Where was Easu?  
109:105,07['  ]| Jack wondered as he wandered aimlessly out into the
109:105,08['  ]| night.  
109:105,08@a   | Where was Easu?   
109:105,08['  ]| For$3$ Jack had it on$4$ his mind that$3$ 
109:105,08@a   | he ought to$9$ fight
109:105,09@a   | him.  Felt he would be a coward if he did not tackle him this very night.
109:105,10['  ]| But it was three o'clock, the night was very still and rich, still warm, rather
109:105,11['  ]| close, but not oppressive.  The strange heaviness of the hot summer night,
109:105,12['  ]| with the stars thick in$4$ clouds and clusters overhead, the moon being gone.
109:105,13['  ]| Jack strayed aimlessly through the motionless, dark, warm air, till he came to$4$
109:105,14['  ]| the paddock gate, and there he leaned with his chin on$4$ his arms, half asleep.
109:105,15['  ]| It seemed to$9$ be growing cooler, and a dampness was bringing out the scent of
109:105,16['  ]| the scorched grass, the essence of the earth, like$4$ incense.  There was a
109:105,17['  ]| half-wild bush with a few pale pink roses near the gate.  He could just get
109:105,18['  ]| their fragrance.  
109:105,18@a   | If it were as it should be, Monica would here, in$4$ one of her
109:105,19@a   | wistful, her fiercely wishful moments!  
109:105,19['  ]| When she looked at him with her
109:105,20['  ]| yellow eyes and fierce, naive look of yearning, he was ready to$9$ give all his
109:105,21['  ]| blood to$4$ her.  
109:105,21@a   | If things were as they should be, she would be clinging to$4$ him
109:105,22@a   | now like$4$ that$6#2$, and nestling against his breast.  If things were as they should
109:105,23@a   | be!
109:105,24@a   | He did not want to$9$ go to$4$ sleep.  He wanted what he wanted.  He wanted the
109:105,25@a   | night, the young, changeable, yearning Monica, and an answer to$4$ his own
109:105,26@a   | awake young blood.  He insisted on$4$ it.  He would not go to$4$ sleep, he would
109:105,27@a   | insist on$4$ an answer.  And he wanted to$9$ fight Easu.  He ought to$9$ fight Easu.  His
109:105,28@a   | manhood depended on$4$ it.
109:105,29@a   | He coulld hear the cattle stirring down the meadow.  Soon it would begin to$9$
109:105,30@a   | be day.  What was it now?  It was night, dark night towards morning, with a
109:105,31@a   | faint breathing of air from the sea.  And where was he?  He was in$4$ Australia,
109:105,32@a   | leaning on$4$ the paddock gate and seeing the stars and the dim shape of the
109:105,33@a   | gum tree.  There was a faint scent of eucalyptus in$4$ the night.  His mother was
109:105,34@a   | far away.  England was far away.  He was alone there leaning on$4$ the paddock
109:105,35@a   | gate, in$4$ Australia.
109:105,36@a   | After all, perhaps the very best thing was to$9$ be alone.  Better even than
109:105,37@a   | having Monica or fighting Easu.  Because where you are alone you are at one
109:105,38@a   | with your own God.  The spirit in$4$ you is God in$4$ you.  And when you are alone
109:105,39@a   | you are one with the spirit of God inside you.  Other people are chiefly an
109:105,40@a   | interruption.
109:105,41@a   | And, moreover, he could never say he was lonely while he was at Wandoo,
109:105,42@a   | while there was Tom and Lennie, and Monica, and all the rest.  He hoped he
109:105,43@a   | would have them all his life.  He hoped he would never, in$4$ all his life, say
109:105,44@a   | good-bye to$4$ them.
109:105,45@a   | No$7$, he would take up$5$ land as near this homestead as possible, and build a
109:106,01@a   | brick house on$4$ it.  And he would have a number of fine horses, better than
109:106,02@a   | anyone else's, and some sheep that$6#1$ would pay, and a few cows.  Always milk
109:106,03@a   | and butter with the wheat-meal damper.
109:106,04@a   | What was that$6#2$?  Only a more*pork.  He laid his head on$4$ his arms again, on$4$
109:106,05@a   | the gate.  He wanted a place of his own, now.  He would have it now if he had
109:106,06@a   | any money.  And marry Monica.  Would he marry Monica?  Would he marry
109:106,07@a   | anybody?  He much preferred the whole family.  But he wanted a place of his
109:106,08@a   | own.  If he could hurry up$5$ his father.  And old Mr*George.  He might
109:106,09@a   | persuade Mr*George to$9$ be on$4$ his side.  Why was there never any money?  No$2$
109:106,10@a   | money!  A father ought to$9$ have some money for$4$ a son.
109:106,11@a   | What was that$6#2$?  He saw a dim white figure stealing across the near distance.
109:106,12@a   | Pah!  must have been a girl sitting out under the pitosperum tree.  When he
109:106,13@a   | had thought he was quite alone.
109:106,14['  ]| The thought upset him.  
109:106,14@a   | And he ought to$9$ find Easu.  
109:106,14['  ]| Obstinately he insisted
109:106,15['  ]| to$4$ himself that$3$ 
109:106,15@a   | he ought to$9$ find Easu.
109:106,16['  ]| He drifted towards the shed near the cubby, where Mr*Ellis kept the tools.
109:106,17['  ]| Somebody unknown and unauthorised had put a barrel of beer inside the
109:106,18['  ]| shed.  Men were there drinking, as he knew they would be.
109:106,19[W  ]| "Have a pot, youngster?"
109:106,20[A  ]| "Thanks."
109:106,21['  ]| He sat down on$4$ a case beside the door, and drank the rather warm beer.
109:106,22['  ]| His head began to$9$ drop.  He knew he was almost asleep.
109:106,23['  ]| Easu loomed up$5$ from the dark, coatless, hatless, with his shirt front open,
109:106,24['  ]| asking for$4$ a drink.  
109:106,24@a   | He was thirsty.  Easu was thirsty.  How could you be angry
109:106,25@a   | with a thirsty man!  and he was not so$5#1$ bad, after all.  No$7$, Easu was not so$5#1$ bad
109:106,26@a   | after all!  What did it matter!  What did it matter, anyhow?
109:106,27['  ]| Jack slipped to$4$ the ground and lay there fast asleep.
110:107,00[U  ]| <Shadows Before>
110:107,01['  ]| <i> 
110:107,02['  ]| But in$4$ the morning memory was back, and the unquenched smouldering
110:107,03['  ]| of passion.  
110:107,03@a   | Easu had insulted him.  Easu had insulted him, and that$6#2$
110:107,04@a   | should never be forgiven.  
110:107,04['  ]| And he had this new, half painful, more than half
110:107,05['  ]| painful desire to$9$ see Monica, to$9$ be near her, to$9$ touch her hand; a sort of
110:107,06['  ]| necessity upon$4$ him all the while which$6#1$ he was not used to$4$.  It made him
110:107,07['  ]| restless, uneasy, and for$4$ the first time in$4$ his life, a little melancholy.  He was
110:107,08['  ]| used to$4$ feeling angry:  a steady, almost blithe sort of anger.  And beyond that$6#2$
110:107,09['  ]| he had always been able to$9$ summon up$5$ an indifference to$4$ things, cover them
110:107,10['  ]| with oblivion:  to$9$ retreat upon$4$ himself and insulate himself from contact.
110:107,11['  ]| Now he could no$2$ longer do this, and it fretted him, made him accessible to$4$
110:107,12['  ]| melancholy.  The hot, hot January days, all dry flaming heat, and flies, and
110:107,13['  ]| mosquitoes, passed over him, leaving him strange even to$4$ himself.  There was
110:107,14['  ]| work, the drudging work of the farm, all the while.  And one just sweated.  He
110:107,15['  ]| learned to$9$ submit to$4$ it, to$4$ the sweating all the time during the day, and the
110:107,16['  ]| mosquitoes at night.  It was like$4$ a narcotic.  The old, English alertness grew
110:107,17['  ]| darker and darker.  He seemed to$9$ be moving, a dim consciousness and an
110:107,18['  ]| unyielding will$0$, in$4$ a dark cloud of heat, in$4$ a perspiring, dissolving body.  He
110:107,19['  ]| could feel his body, the English cool body of his being, slowly melting down
110:107,20['  ]| and being invaded by$4$ a new tropical quality.  
110:107,20@a   | Sometimes, 
110:107,20['  ]| he said to$4$ himself,
110:107,21@a   | he was sweating his soul away.  
110:107,21['  ]| That$6#2$ was how it felt:  as if he were sweating his
110:107,22['  ]| soul away.  And he let his soul go, let it slowly melt away out of his wet, hot
110:107,23['  ]| body.
110:107,24['  ]| Any man who$6#1$ has been in$4$ the tropics, unless he has kept all his mind and
110:107,25['  ]| his consciousness focussed homewards, fixed towards the old people of
110:107,26['  ]| home, will$1$ know how this feels.  Now, Jack did not turn homewards, back to$4$
110:107,27['  ]| England.  He never wanted to$9$ go back.  There was in$4$ him a slow, abiding
110:107,28['  ]| anger against this same "home."  Therefore he let himself go down the dark
110:107,29['  ]| tide of the heat.  He did not cling on$5$ to$4$ his old English soul, the soul of an
110:107,30['  ]| English gentleman.  He let that$6#2$ dissolve out of him, leaving what residuum of
110:107,31['  ]| a man it might leave.  But out of very obstinacy he hung on$5$ to$4$ his own
110:107,32['  ]| integrity:  a small, dark, obscure integrity.
110:107,33['  ]| Usually he was too busy perspiring, panting, and working to$9$ think about
110:107,34['  ]| anything.  His mind also seemed dissolving away in$4$ perspiration and in$4$ the
110:107,35['  ]| curious eucalyptus solvent of the Australian air.  He was too busy and too
110:107,36['  ]| much heat-oppressed even to$9$ think of Monica or of Easu, though Monica
110:107,37['  ]| was a live wire in$4$ his body.  Only on$4$ Sundays he seemed to$9$ come half out of his
110:107,38['  ]| trance.  And then everything went queer and strange, a little uncanny.
110:108,01['  ]| Dad was back again for$4$ the harvest, but his heart was no$2$ better, and a queer
110:108,02['  ]| frightening cloud seemed over him.  
110:108,02@x   | And Gran, 
110:108,02['  ]| they said, 
110:108,02@x   | was failing.  
110:108,02['  ]| Somehow
110:108,03['  ]| Gran was the presiding deity of the house.  Her queer spirit controlled,
110:108,04['  ]| even now.  And she was failing.  She adored Lennie, but he was afraid of her.
110:108,05[J  ]| "Gran is the limit,"  
110:108,05['  ]| he asserted.  
110:108,05[J  ]| "She is that$6#2$ wilful.  Always the same with
110:108,06[J  ]| them women when they gets well on$5$ in$4$ years.  I clear out from her if I can,
110:108,07[J  ]| she is that$6#2$ obstropulous ~~ tells you to$9$ wipe your nose, pull up$5$ your pants, brush your teeth,
110:108,08[J  ]| not sniff:  golly, I can not stand it!"
110:108,09['  ]| Sunday was the day when you really came into contact with the family.  The
110:108,10['  ]| rule was, that$3$ each one took it in$4$ turns to$9$ get up$5$ and make breakfast, while
110:108,11['  ]| everybody else stayed on$5$ in$4$ bed, for$4$ a much-needed rest.  If it was your turn,
110:108,12['  ]| you rolled out of bed at dawn when Timothy banged on$4$ the wall, you slipped
110:108,13['  ]| on$4$ your shirt and pants and went to$4$ the "everlasting" fire.  Raking the ashes
110:108,14['  ]| together with a handful of sticks, you blew a blaze and once more smelt the
110:108,15['  ]| burning eucalyptus leaves.  You filled the black iron kettle at the pump, and
110:108,16['  ]| set it over the flame.  Then you washed yourself.  After which$6#1$ you carved
110:108,17['  ]| bread and butter:  tiny bits for$4$ Gran, moderate pieces for$4$ upstairs, and
110:108,18['  ]| doorsteps for$4$ the cubby.  After which$6#1$ you made the tea, and \holloa'd\!  while
110:108,19['  ]| you poured it out.  One of the girls, with a coat over her nighty and hair in$4$ a
110:108,20['  ]| chinon, would come barefoot to$9$ carry the trays, to$4$ Gran and to$4$ the upstairs.
110:108,21['  ]| This was just the preliminary breakfast:  the Sunday morning luxury.  Just tea
110:108,22['  ]| in$4$ bed.
110:108,23['  ]| Later the boys were shouting for$4$ clean shirts and towels, and the women
110:108,24['  ]| were up$5$.  Proceeded the hair-cutting, nail-paring, button-sewing, and general
110:108,25['  ]| murmur, all under the supervision of Ma.  Then down to$4$ the sand-bagged
110:108,26['  ]| pool for$4$ a dip.  After which$6#1$, clean and in$4$ clean raiment, you went to$4$
110:108,27['  ]| the parlour to$9$ hear Dad read the lessons.
110:108,28['  ]| The family Bible was carefully kept warm in$4$ the parlour, during the week,
110:108,29['  ]| under a woollen crochet mat.  A crochet mat above, and a crochet mat below.
110:108,30['  ]| Nothing must ever stand on$4$ that$6#2$ book, nothing whatever.  The children were
110:108,31['  ]| quite superstitious about it.
110:108,32['  ]| Lennie, the Benjamin of his father Jacob, each Sunday went importantly
110:108,33['  ]| into the drawing-room, in$4$ semi-religious silence, and fetched the ponderous
110:108,34['  ]| brass-bound book.  He put it on$4$ the table in$4$ front of Dad.  Gran came in$5$ with
110:108,35['  ]| her stick and her lace cap, and sat in$4$ the arm-chair near the window.  Mrs*Ellis
110:108,36['  ]| and the children folded their hands like$4$ saints.  Mr*Ellis wiped his spectacles,
110:108,37['  ]| cleared his throat, looked again at the little church calendar of the lessons,
110:108,38['  ]| found the place, and proceeded in$4$ a droning voice.  Nobody looked at him,
110:108,39['  ]| except Mrs*Ellis.  Everybody looked another way.  Gran usually gazed sideways
110:108,40['  ]| at the floor.  Tick, tock!  went the clock.  It was a little eternity.
110:108,41['  ]| Jack knew the Bible pretty well, as a well-brought-up nephew of his aunts.
110:108,42['  ]| He had no$2$ objection to$4$ the Bible.  On$4$ the contrary, it supplied his imagination
110:108,43['  ]| with a chief stock of images, his ear with the greatest solemn pleasure of
110:108,44['  ]| words, and his soul with a queer heterogeneous ethic.  He never really
110:108,45['  ]| connected the Bible with Christianity proper, the Christianity of aunts and
110:109,01['  ]| clergymen.  He had no$2$ use for$4$ Christianity proper:  just dismissed it.  But the
110:109,02['  ]| Bible was perhaps the foundation of his consciousness.  Do what seems good
110:109,03['  ]| to$4$ you in$4$ the sight of the Lord.  This was the moral he always drew from Bible
110:109,04['  ]| lore.  And since the Lord, for$4$ him, was always the Lord*Almighty, Almighty*God,
110:109,05['  ]| Maker of Heaven and Earth, Jesus being only a side issue; since the
110:109,06['  ]| Lord was always Jehovah the great and dark, for$4$ him, one might do as David
110:109,07['  ]| did, in$4$ the sight of the Lord, or as Jacob, or as Abraham or Moses or Joshua
110:109,08['  ]| or Isaiah, in$4$ the sight of the Lord.  The sight of the Lord was a vast strange
110:109,09['  ]| scope of vision, in$4$ the semi-dark.
110:109,10['  ]| Gran always listened the same, leaning on$4$ her stick and looking sideways
110:109,11['  ]| to$4$ the ground, as if she did not quite see the stout and purple-faced Jacob,
110:109,12['  ]| her son, as the mouthpiece of the Word.  As a matter of fact, the way he read
110:109,13['  ]| Scripture irritated her.  She wished Lennie could have read the lessons.  But
110:109,14['  ]| Dad was head of the house, and she was fond of him, poor old Jacob.
110:109,15['  ]| And Jack always furtively watched Gran.  She frightened him, and he had a
110:109,16['  ]| little horror of her:  but she fascinated him too.  
110:109,16@a   | She was like$4$ Monica, at the
110:109,17@a   | great distance of her years.  Her lace cap was snowy white, with little lavender
110:109,18@a   | ribbons.  Her face was pure ivory, with fine-shaped features, that$6#2$ subtly
110:109,19@a   | arched nose, like$4$ Monica's.  Her silver hair came over her dead looking ears.
110:109,20@a   | And her dry, shiny, blue-veined hand remained fixed over the pommel of
110:109,21@a   | her black stick.  How awful, how unspeakably awful, 
110:109,21['  ]| Jack felt, 
110:109,21@a   | to$9$ be so$5#1$ old!  No$2$
110:109,22@a   | longer human.  And she seemed so$5#1$ little inside her clothes.  And one never
110:109,23@a   | knew what she was thinking.  But surely some strange, uncanny, dim non-human
110:109,24@a   | thoughts.
110:109,25['  ]| Sunday was full of strange, half painful impressions of death and life.
110:109,26['  ]| After lessons the boys would escape to$4$ the yards, and the stables, and lounge
110:109,27['  ]| about.  Or they would try the horses, or take a gun into the uncleared bush.
110:109,28['  ]| Then came the enormous Sunday dinner, when everyone ate himself stupid.
110:109,29['  ]| In$4$ the afternoon Tom and Jack wandered to$4$ the loft, to$4$ the old concertina.
110:109,30['  ]| Up$4$ there among the hay, they squeezed and pulled the old instrument, till at
110:109,31['  ]| last, after much practice, they could draw forth tortured hymnal sounds
110:109,32['  ]| from its protesting internals.
110:109,33@z   | "Ha-a-appy Ho-ome!  Ha-appy Ho-ome!
110:109,34@z   | Oh, Haa-py Ho-me!  Oh, Haa-py Ho-me!
110:109,35@z   | In$4$ Paradise, with thee!"
110:109,36['  ]| Over and over again the same tune, till Tom would drop off to$4$ sleep, and
110:109,37['  ]| Jack would have a go at it.  And this yearning sort of hymn always sent a chill
110:109,38['  ]| to$4$ his bowels.  They were like$4$ Gran, on$4$ the brink of the grave.  In$4$ fact the word
110:109,39['  ]| Paradise made him shudder worse than the word coffin.  Yet he would grind
110:109,40['  ]| away at the tune.  Till he, too, fell asleep.
110:109,41['  ]| And then they would wake in$4$ the heat to$4$ the silence of the suspended,
110:109,42['  ]| fiercely hot afternoon.  Only to$9$ feel their own sweat trickling, and to$9$ hear the
110:109,43['  ]| horses, the draught-horses which$6#1$ were in$4$ stable for$4$ the day, chop-chopping
110:109,44['  ]| underneath.  So$3$, in$4$ spite of sweat and heat, another go at the fascinating
110:109,45['  ]| concertina.
110:110,00[U  ]| <ii>
110:110,01['  ]| One Sunday Jack strolled in$5$ an hour early for$4$ tea.  He had made a mistake, as
110:110,02['  ]| one does sometimes when one sleeps in$4$ the afternoon.  Gran was sitting by$4$ a
110:110,03['  ]| little fire in$4$ the dark living*room.  She had to$9$ have a little fire to$9$ look at.  It was
110:110,04['  ]| like$4$ life to$4$ her.
110:110,05[M  ]| "Come here, Jack*Grant," 
110:110,05['  ]| she said in$4$ her thin imperious voice.  He went on$4$
110:110,06['  ]| reluctant feet, for$3$ he had a dread of her years and her strange femaleness.
110:110,07@a   | What did she want of him?
110:110,08[M  ]| "Did you hear Mr*George get my son to$9$ promise to$9$ make a will$0$ when you were in$4$
110:110,09[M  ]| Perth?"
110:110,10[A  ]| "No$7$, marm," 
110:110,10['  ]| said Jack promptly.
110:110,11[M  ]| "Well, take it from me, if he promised, he has not done it.  He never signed a
110:110,12[M  ]| paper in$4$ his life, unless it was his marriage register.  And but for$4$ my driving
110:110,13[M  ]| he would never had signed that$6#2$.  Sit down!"
110:110,14['  ]| Jack sat on$4$ the edge of a chair, his heart in$4$ his boots.
110:110,15[M  ]| "I told you before I would have married your grandfather if he had not been
110:110,16[M  ]| married already.  I wonder where you would have been then!  Just as well I did not,
110:110,17[M  ]| for$3$ he would not look at me after he took my leg off.  Just come here a minute."
110:110,18['  ]| Jack got up$5$ and went to$4$ her side.  She put her soft, dry, dead old hand on$4$
110:110,19['  ]| his face and stroked it, pressing on$4$ the cheek-bones.
110:110,20[M  ]| "Ay,"  
110:110,20['  ]| she said.  
110:110,20[M  ]| "I suppose those are his bones again.  And my bones are in$4$
110:110,21[M  ]| Monica.  Do not stand up$5$, lad, take your seat."
110:110,22['  ]| Jack sat down in$4$ extreme discomfort.
110:110,23[M  ]| "Well," 
110:110,23['  ]| she resumed, 
110:110,23[M  ]| "I was very well off with old Ellis, so$3$ I will$1$ not complain.
110:110,24[M  ]| But you have got your English father's eyes. You would have been better with
110:110,25[M  ]| mine.  Those bones, those beautiful bones, and my sort of eyes."
110:110,26@a   | Gran's eyes were queer and remote now.  But they had been perhaps like$4$
110:110,27@a   | Monica's, only a darker grey, and with a darker, subtler cat look in$4$ them.
110:110,28[M  ]| "I suppose it will$1$ be in$4$ the children's children," 
110:110,28['  ]| she resumed, her eyes
110:110,29['  ]| going out like$4$ a candle.  
110:110,29[M  ]| "For$3$ I married old Ellis, though to$4$ this day I never
110:110,30[M  ]| quite believe it.  And one thing I do know.  I will$1$ not die in$4$ the dying*room of
110:110,31[M  ]| this house.  I will$1$ not do it, not if it was the custom of a hundred families.  Not if
110:110,32[M  ]| he was here himself to$9$ see me do it.  I would not.  Though he was kindness
110:110,33[M  ]| itself.  But not if he was here himself and had the satisfaction of seeing me do
110:110,34[M  ]| it!  A dreadful room!  I would be frightened to$4$ death to$9$ die in$4$ it.  I like$1$ me sheets
110:110,35[M  ]| sun-kissed, heat or no$2$ heat, and no$2$ sun ever gets into that$6#2$ room.  But it is
110:110,36[M  ]| better for$4$ a woman to$9$ marry, even if she marries the wrong man.  I allus said
110:110,37[M  ]| so$5#2$.  An old maid, especially a decayed gentlewoman, is a blight on$4$ the face of
110:110,38[M  ]| the earth."
110:110,39[A  ]| "Why?"  
110:110,39['  ]| said Jack suddenly.  
110:110,39@a   | The old woman was too authorative.
110:110,40[M  ]| "That$6#2$ is why!  What do you know about it?"  
110:110,40['  ]| she said contemptuously.
110:110,41[A  ]| "I knew a nice old lady in$4$ England who$6#1$ had never been married," 
110:110,41['  ]| he said,
110:110,42['  ]| thinking of 
110:110,42@a   | a really beautiful, gentle woman who$6#1$ had kept all her perfume
110:110,43@a   | and her charm in$4$ spite of her fifty-odd years of single blessedness.  But, then,
110:111,01@a   | she had a naturally deep and religious nature, not like$4$ this pagan old cat of a
110:111,02@a   | Gran.
110:111,03[M  ]| "Did \you\!" 
110:111,03['  ]| said Gran, eyeing him severely.  
110:111,03[M  ]| "What do \you\ know at your age?
110:111,04[M  ]| I have got three unmarried daughters, and I am ashamed of them.  If I had
110:111,05[M  ]| married your grandfather I never should have had them.  Self-centred, and
110:111,06[M  ]| old as old boots, they are.  I would rather they had gone wrong and died in$4$ the bush,
110:111,07[M  ]| like$4$ your aunt who$6#1$ had a child by$4$ Mary's father."
110:111,08['  ]| Jack made round, English eyes of amazement at this speech.  He disapproved
110:111,09['  ]| thoroughly.
110:111,10[M  ]| "You have got too much of your English father in$4$ you," 
110:111,10['  ]| she said, 
110:111,10[M  ]| "and not
110:111,11[M  ]| enough of your hard-hearted grandfather.  Look at Lennie, what a beautiful
110:111,12[M  ]| boy he is."
110:111,13['  ]| There was a pause.  Jack sat in$4$ torment while she baited him.  He was full of
110:111,14['  ]| antagonism towards her and her years.
110:111,15[M  ]| "But, I tell you, you never realise you are old till you see your friends
110:111,16[M  ]| slipping away.  One by$4$ one they go ~~ over the border.  \That$6#2$ is\ what makes you
110:111,17[M  ]| feel old.  I tell you.  Nothing else.  Annie*Brockman died the other day.  I was at
110:111,18[M  ]| school with her.  She was not old, though \you would\ have thought so$5#2$."
110:111,19['  ]| The way Gran said this was quite spiteful.  And Jack thought to$4$ himself:
110:111,20@a   | "What nonsense, she \was\ old if she was at school with Gran.  If she was as old
110:111,21@a   | as Gran, she was awfully old."
110:111,22[M  ]| "No$7$, she was not old ~~ school-girls and fellows laughing in$4$ the ball*room, or
110:111,23[M  ]| breathing fast after a hard ride.  You did not know Sydney in$4$ those days.  And
110:111,24[M  ]| men grown old behind their beards for$4$ want of understanding; because
110:111,25[M  ]| they are too dense to$9$ understand what living means.  Men are dense.  Are ye
110:111,26[M  ]| listening?"
110:111,27['  ]| The question came with such queer aged force that$3$ Jack started almost out
110:111,28['  ]| of his chair.
110:111,29[A  ]| "Yes, marm," 
110:111,29['  ]| he said.
110:111,30[M  ]| "Yes, marm' he says!"  
110:111,30['  ]| she repeated with a queer little grin of amusement.
110:111,31[M  ]| "Listen to$4$ this grandfather's chit saying ""yes, marm!"" to$4$ me!  Well, they will$1$ have
110:111,32[M  ]| their way.  My friends are nearly all gone, so$3$ I suppose I shall soon be going.
110:111,33[M  ]| Not but what there is plenty of amusement here."
110:111,34['  ]| She looked round in$4$ an odd way, as if she saw ghosts.  Jack would have
110:111,35['  ]| given his skin to$9$ escape her.
110:111,36[M  ]| "Listen," 
110:111,36['  ]| she said with sudden secrecy.  
110:111,36[M  ]| "I want ye to$9$ do something for$4$ me.
110:111,37[M  ]| You love Lennie, do not ye?"
110:111,38['  ]| Jack nodded.
110:111,39[M  ]| "So$5#2$ do I!  And I am going to$9$ help him."  
110:111,39['  ]| Her voice became sharp with
110:111,40['  ]| secrecy.  
110:111,40[M  ]| "I have put by$5$ a stocking for$4$ him," 
110:111,40['  ]| she hissed.  
110:111,40[M  ]| "At least it is not a
110:111,41[M  ]| stocking, it is a tin box, but it is the same thing.  It is up$4$ there!"  
110:111,41['  ]| She pointed with
110:111,42['  ]| her stick at the wide black chimney.  
110:111,42[M  ]| "Do you understand?"
110:111,43['  ]| She eyed Jack with aged keenness, and he nodded, though his understanding
110:111,44['  ]| was rather vague.  Truth to$9$ tell, nothing she said seemed to$4$ him
110:111,45['  ]| quite real.  As if, poor Gran, her age put her outside of reason.
110:112,01[M  ]| "That$6#2$ stocking is for$4$ Lennie.  Tom's mother was nobody knows who$6#1$,
110:112,02[M  ]| though I am not going to$9$ say Jacob never married her, if Jacob says he did.
110:112,03[M  ]| But Tom will$1$ get everything.  The same as Jacob did.  That$6#2$ is how it hits back at
110:112,04[M  ]| me.  I wanted Jacob to$9$ have the place, and now it goes to$4$ Tom, and my little
110:112,05[M  ]| Lennie gets nothing.  Alice has been a good woman, and a good wife to$4$ Jacob:
110:112,06[M  ]| better than he deserved.  I am going to$9$ stand by$4$ her.  That$6#2$ stocking in$4$ there is
110:112,07[M  ]| for$4$ Lennie because he is her eldest son.  In$4$ a tin box.  You understand?"
110:112,08['  ]| And she pointed again at the chimney.
110:112,09['  ]| Jack nodded, though he did not really take it in$5$.  He had a little horror of
110:112,10['  ]| Gran at all times; but when she took on$4$ this witch-like portentousness, and
110:112,11['  ]| whispered at him in$4$ a sharp, aged whisper, about money, hidden money, it
110:112,12['  ]| all seemed so$5#1$ abnormal to$4$ him that$3$ he refused to$9$ take it for$4$ real.  The queer
110:112,13['  ]| aged female spirit that$6#1$ had schemed with money for$4$ the men-folk she chose,
110:112,14['  ]| scheming to$9$ oust those she had not elected, was so$5#1$ strange and half-ghoulish,
110:112,15['  ]| that$3$ he merely shrank from taking it in$5$.  When she pointed with her white-headed
110:112,16['  ]| stick at the wide black mouth of the chimney, he glanced and looked
110:112,17['  ]| quietly away again.  He did not want to$9$ think of a hoard of sovereigns in$4$ a
110:112,18['  ]| stocking ~~ or a tin box ~~ secreted in$4$ there.  He did not want to$9$ think of the
110:112,19['  ]| subtle, scheming, vindictive old woman reaching up$5$ into the soot to$9$ add
110:112,20['  ]| more gold to$4$ the hoard.  It was all unnatural to$4$ him and to$4$ his generation.
110:112,21['  ]| But Gran despised him and his generation.  It was as unreal to$4$ her as hers
110:112,22['  ]| to$4$ him.
110:112,23[M  ]| "Old*George could not even persuade that$6#2$ Jacob of mine to$9$ sign a marriage
110:112,24[M  ]| settlement," 
110:112,24['  ]| she continued.  
110:112,24[M  ]| "And I was not going to$9$ force him.  Would you
110:112,25[M  ]| believe a man could be such an obstinate fool?"
110:112,26[A  ]| "Yes, marm," 
110:112,26['  ]| said Jack automatically.
110:112,27['  ]| And Gran stamped her stick at him in$4$ sudden vicious rage.
110:112,28['  ]| The stamping of the stick brought Grace, and he fled.
110:112,00[U  ]| <iii>
110:112,29['  ]| That$6#2$ evening they were all sitting in$4$ the garden.  The drawing-room was
110:112,30['  ]| thrown open, as usual on$4$ Sunday, but nobody even went in$5$ except to$9$ strum
110:112,31['  ]| the piano.  Monica was strumming hymns now.  Grace came along calling
110:112,32['  ]| Mary.  Mary was staying on$5$ at Wandoo.
110:112,33[E  ]| "Mary, Gran wants you.  She feels faint.  Come and see to$4$ her, will$1$ you?"
110:112,34['  ]| Ellie came and slipped her fat little hand into Jack's, hanging on$5$ to$4$ him.
110:112,35['  ]| Katie and Lennie sat surreptitiously playing cats'-cradle, on$4$ the steps:  forbidden
110:112,36['  ]| act, on$4$ the Sabbath.  The twin boys wriggled their backs against the
110:112,37['  ]| gate-posts and their toes into the earth, asking each other riddles.  Harry as
110:112,38['  ]| usual aimed stones at birds.  It was a close evening, the wind had not come.
110:112,39['  ]| And they all were uneasy, with that$6#2$ uncanny uneasiness that$6#1$ attacks families,
110:112,40['  ]| because Gran was not well.
110:112,41['  ]| Harry was singing profanely, profaning the Sabbath.
110:113,01@z   | "A blue jay sat on$4$ a hickory limb,
110:113,02@z   | He wink at me, I wink at him.
110:113,03@z   | I up$5$ with a stone, and hit him on$4$ the shin.
110:113,04@z   | Says he, Little Nigger, do not do that$6#2$ again!
110:113,05@z   | Clar de kitchen, ol' folk, young folk!
110:113,06@z   | Clar de kitchen, ol' folk, young folk!
110:113,07@z   | And let us dance till dawn O."
110:113,08['  ]| Harry shouted out these wicked words half loud to$4$ a tune of his own that$6#1$
110:113,09['  ]| was no$2$ tune.
110:113,10['  ]| Jack did not speak.  The sense of evening, Sunday evening, far away from
110:113,11['  ]| any church or bell, was strong upon$4$ him.  The sun was slow in$4$ the sky, and the
110:113,12['  ]| light intensely strong, all fine gold.  He went to$9$ look.  The sunlight
110:113,13['  ]| flooded the dry, dry earth till it glowed again, and the gum trees that$6#1$ stood
110:113,14['  ]| up$5$ hung tresses of liquid shadow from the trunks of gold, and buildings
110:113,15['  ]| seemed to$9$ melt blue in$4$ the vision of light.  Someone was riding in$5$ from
110:113,16['  ]| westward, and a cloud of pure gold-dust fuming from the earth about the
110:113,17['  ]| horse and the horseman, with a vast, overwhelming gold glow of the void
110:113,18['  ]| heavens above.  The whole west was so$5#1$ powerful with pure gold light, coming
110:113,19['  ]| from immense space and the sea, that$3$ it seemed like$4$ a transfiguration, and
110:113,20['  ]| another horseman rode fuming in$4$ a dust of light as if he were coming, small
110:113,21['  ]| and Daniel-like, out of the vast furnace-mouth of creation.  Jack looked west,
110:113,22['  ]| into the welter of yellow light, in$4$ fear.  He knew again, as he had known
110:113,23['  ]| before, that$3$ his day was not the day of all the world, there was a huger sunset
110:113,24['  ]| than the sunset of his race.  There were vaster, more unspeakable gods than
110:113,25['  ]| the gods of his fathers.  The god in$4$ this yellow fire was huger than the white
110:113,26['  ]| men could understand, and seemed to$9$ proclaim their doom.
110:113,27['  ]| Out of this immense power of the glory seemed to$9$ come a proclamation of
110:113,28['  ]| doom.  Lesser glories must crumble to$4$ powder in$4$ this greater glow, as the
110:113,29['  ]| horsemen rode trotting in$4$ the glorified cloud of the earth, spuming a glory
110:113,30['  ]| all round them.  They seemed like$4$ messengers out of the great west, coming
110:113,31['  ]| with a proclamation of doom, the small, trotting aureoled figures kicking up$5$
110:113,32['  ]| dust like$4$ sun-dust, and gradually growing larger, hardening out of the sea of
110:113,33['  ]| light. Like$4$ sun-arrivals.
110:113,34['  ]| Though, after all, it was only Alec*Rice and Tom.  But they were gilded
110:113,35['  ]| men, dusty and sun-luminous, as they came into the yard, with their brown
110:113,36['  ]| faces strangely vague in$4$ shadow, unreal.
110:113,37['  ]| The sun was setting, huge and liquid and sliding down at immense speed
110:113,38['  ]| behind the far-off molten, wavering long ridge towards the coast.  Fearsome
110:113,39['  ]| the great liquid sun was, stooping fiercely down like$4$ an enemy stooping to$9$
110:113,40['  ]| hide his glory, laving the sky hovering and pulsing above, with a sense of
110:113,41['  ]| wings, and a sense of proclamation, and of doom.  It seemed to$9$ say to$4$ Jack:  
110:113,41@x   | I
110:113,42@x   | and my race are doomed.  But even the doom is a splendour.
110:113,43['  ]| Shadow lay very thin on$4$ the earth, pale as day, though the sun was gone.
110:113,44['  ]| Jack turned back to$4$ the house.  The tiny twins were staggering home to$9$ find
110:113,45['  ]| their supper, their hands in$4$ the pockets of their Sunday breeches.  The
110:113,46['  ]| pockets of everyday breeches were, for$4$ some mysterious reason, always sewn
110:114,01['  ]| up$5$, so$3$ Sunday alone knew this swagger.  Harry was being called in$5$ to$4$ bed.
110:114,02['  ]| And Len and Katie, rarely far off at meal times, were converging towards
110:114,03['  ]| supper too.
110:114,04['  ]| Monica was still drumming listlessly on$4$ the piano, and singing in$4$ a little
110:114,05['  ]| voice.  She had a very sweet voice, but she usually sang "small."  She was
110:114,06['  ]| singing a hymn, Jack became aware of this.  She was singing, rather nervously,
110:114,07['  ]| or irritably, and with her own queer yearning pathos:
110:114,08@z   | "Oh Jane, Oh Jane, my pretty Jane, Oh Jane
110:114,09@z   | Ah never, never look so$5#1$ shy.
110:114,10@z   | But meet me, meet me in$4$ the moonlight,
110:114,11@z   | When the dew is on$4$ the rye."
110:114,12['  ]| Someone had lighted the piano candles, and she sat there strumming and
110:114,13['  ]| singing in$4$ a little voice, and looking queer and lonely.  His heart went hot in$4$
110:114,14['  ]| his breast, and then started pounding.  He crossed silently, and stood just
110:114,15['  ]| behind her.  For$4$ some moments she would not notice him, but went on$5$
110:114,16['  ]| singing the same.  And he stood perfectly still close behind her.  Then, at last,
110:114,17['  ]| she glanced upward at him, and his heart stood still again with the same sense
110:114,18['  ]| of doom the sun had given him.  She still went on$5$ singing for$4$ a few moments.
110:114,19['  ]| Then she stopped abruptly, and jerked her hand from the piano.
110:114,20[D  ]| "Do not you want to$9$ sing?"  
110:114,20['  ]| she asked sharply.
110:114,21[A  ]| "Not particularly."
110:114,22[D  ]| "What do you want then?"
110:114,23[A  ]| "Let us go out."
110:114,24['  ]| She looked at him strangely, then rose in$4$ her abrupt fashion.  She followed
110:114,25['  ]| him across the yard in$4$ silence, while he felt the curious sense of doom settling
110:114,26['  ]| down on$4$ him.
110:114,27['  ]| He sat down on$4$ the step of the back-door of the barn, outside, looking
110:114,28['  ]| southward into the vast, rapidly darkening country, and glanced up$5$ at her.
110:114,29['  ]| She, rather petulantly, sat down beside him.  He felt for$4$ her cool slip of a
110:114,30['  ]| hand, and she let it lie in$4$ his hot one.  But she averted her face.
110:114,31[D  ]| "Why do not you like$1$ me?"  
110:114,31['  ]| she asked petulantly.
110:114,32[A  ]| "But I love you," 
110:114,32['  ]| he said quickly, with shame and the sense of doom
110:114,33['  ]| piercing his heart.
110:114,34['  ]| She turned swiftly and stared him in$4$ the face with a brilliant, oddly
110:114,35['  ]| triumphant look.
110:114,36[D  ]| "Sure?"  
110:114,36['  ]| she said.
110:114,37['  ]| His heart seemed to$9$ go black with doom.  But he turned away his face from
110:114,38['  ]| her glowing eyes, and put his arm round her waist, and drew her to$4$ him.  His
110:114,39['  ]| whole body was trembling like$4$ a taut string, and she could feel the painful
110:114,40['  ]| plunging of his heart as he pressed her fast against him, pressed the breath
110:114,41['  ]| out of her.
110:114,42[A  ]| "Monica!"  
110:114,42['  ]| he murmured blindly, in$4$ pain, like$4$ a man who$6#1$ is in$4$ the dark.
110:114,43[D  ]| "What?"  
110:114,43['  ]| she said softly.
110:114,44['  ]| He hid his face against her shoulder, in$4$ the shame and anguish of desire.
110:114,45['  ]| He would have given anything, if this need never have come upon$4$ him.  But
110:114,46['  ]| the strange fine quivering of his body thrilled her.  She put her cheek down
110:115,01['  ]| caressingly against his hair.  She could be very tender, very, very tender and
110:115,02['  ]| caressing.   And he grew quieter.
110:115,03['  ]| He looked up$5$ at the night again, hot with pain and doom and necessity.  It
110:115,04['  ]| had grown quite dark, the stars were out.
110:115,05[A  ]| "I suppose we shall have to$9$ be married," 
110:115,05['  ]| he said in$4$ a dismal voice.
110:115,06[D  ]| "Why?"  
110:115,06['  ]| she laughed.  It seemed a very sudden and long stride to$4$ her.  He
110:115,07['  ]| had not even kissed her.
110:115,08['  ]| But he did not answer, did not even hear her question.  She watched his
110:115,09['  ]| fine young face in$4$ the dark, looking sullen and doomed at the stars.
110:115,10[D  ]| "Kiss me!"  
110:115,10['  ]| she whispered, in$4$ the most secret whisper he had ever heard.
110:115,11[D  ]| "Kiss me!"
110:115,12['  ]| He turned, in$4$ the same battle of unwillingness.  But as if magnetised he put
110:115,13['  ]| forward his face and kissed her on$4$ the mouth:  the first kiss of his life.  And
110:115,14['  ]| she seemed to$9$ hold him.  And the fierce, fiery pain of pleasure which$6#1$ came
110:115,15['  ]| with that$6#2$ kiss sent his soul rebelling in$4$ torment to$4$ hell.  He had never wanted
110:115,16['  ]| to$9$ be given up$5$, to$9$ be broken by$4$ the black hands of this doom.  But broken he
110:115,17['  ]| was, and his soul seemed to$9$ be leaving him, in$4$ the pain and obsession of this
110:115,18['  ]| desire, against which$6#1$ he struggled so$5#1$ fiercely.
110:115,19['  ]| She seemed to$9$ be pleased, to$9$ be laughing.  And she was exquisitely sweet to$4$
110:115,20['  ]| him.  How could he be otherwise than caught, and broken.
110:115,21['  ]| After an hour of this love-making she blackened him again by$4$ saying they
110:115,22['  ]| must go in$5$ for$4$ supper.  But she meant it, so$5#2$ in$5$ he had to$9$ go.
110:115,23['  ]| Only when he was alone again in$4$ the cubby did he resume the fight to$9$
110:115,24['  ]| recover himself from her again.  To$9$ be free as he had been before.  Not to$9$ be
110:115,25['  ]| under the torment of the spell of this desire.  To$9$ preserve himself intact.  To$9$
110:115,26['  ]| preserve himself from her.
110:115,27['  ]| He lay awake in$4$ his bed in$4$ the cubby and thanked God he was away from
110:115,28['  ]| her.  Thanked God he was alone, with a sufficient space of loneliness around
110:115,29['  ]| him.  Thanked God he was immune from her, that$3$ he could sleep in$4$ the
110:115,30['  ]| sanctity of his own isolation.  He did not want even to$9$ think about her.
110:115,00[U  ]| <iv>
110:115,31['  ]| Gran did not leave her room that$6#2$ week, and Tom talked of fetching the
110:115,32['  ]| relations.
110:115,33[A  ]| "What for$4$?"  
110:115,33['  ]| asked Jack.
110:115,34[H  ]| "They would like$1$ to$9$ be present," 
110:115,34['  ]| said Tom.
110:115,35['  ]| Jack felt incredulous.
110:115,36['  ]| Lennie came out of her room sniffing and wiping his eyes with his knuckles.
110:115,37['  ]|
110:115,38[J  ]| "Poor ol' girl!" 
110:115,38['  ]| he sniffed.  
110:115,38[J  ]| "She do look frail.  She is almost like$4$ a little girl
110:115,39[J  ]| again."
110:115,40[A  ]| "You do not think she is dying, do you, Len?"  
110:115,40['  ]| asked Jack.
110:116,01[J  ]| "I do not \think\, I knows,"  
110:116,01['  ]| replied Len, with utmost scorn.  
110:116,01[J  ]| "Sooner or later
110:116,02[J  ]| she is bound to$9$ go hence and be no$2$ more seen.  But she will$1$ be missed, for$4$ many
110:116,03[J  ]| a day, she will$1$."
110:116,04[A  ]| "But, Tom," 
110:116,04['  ]| said Jack.  
110:116,04[A  ]| "Do you think Gran will$1$ like$1$ to$9$ have all the relations
110:116,05[A  ]| sniffling round her when she gets worse?"
110:116,06[H  ]| "I should think so$5#2$," 
110:116,06['  ]| replied Tom.  
110:116,06[H  ]| "Anyway, \I\ should like$1$ to$9$ die respectable,
110:116,07[H  ]| whether you would or not."
110:116,08['  ]| Jack gave it up$5$.  
110:116,08@a   | Some things were beyond him, and dying respectable was
110:116,09@a   | one of them.
110:116,10[j  ]| "Like$3$ they do in$4$ books," 
110:116,10['  ]| said Len, seeing that$3$ Jack disapproved, and trying
110:116,11['  ]| to$9$ justify Tom's position.  
110:116,11[J  ]| "Even ol' Nelson died proper. 
110:116,11@z   | ""Kiss me, 'Ardy,"" 
110:116,11[J  ]| he
110:116,12[J  ]| said, and 'Ardy kissed him, grubby and filthy as he was.  He could do no$2$ less,
110:116,13[J  ]| though it was beastly."
110:116,14['  ]| Still the boys were not sent for$4$ the relations until the following Sunday,
110:116,15['  ]| which$6#1$ was a rest day.  Jack went to$4$ the Gum*Valley*Homestead, because he
110:116,16['  ]| knew the way.  He set off before dawn.  The terrific heat of the New*Year had
110:116,17['  ]| already passed, and the dawn came fresh and lovely.  He was happy on$4$ that$6#2$
110:116,18['  ]| ride, Gran or no$2$ Gran.  And that$6#2$ is what he thought would be the happiest:
110:116,19@a   | always to$9$ ride on$5$ at dawn, in$4$ a nearly virgin country.  Always to$9$ be riding
110:116,20@a   | away.
110:116,21['  ]| The Greenlows seemed to$9$ expect him.  They had been "warned."  After he
110:116,22['  ]| had been refreshed with a good breakfast, they were ready to$9$ start, in$4$ the
110:116,23['  ]| buggy.  Jack rode in$4$ the buggy with them, his saddle under his seat and the
110:116,24['  ]| neck rope of the horse in$4$ his hand.  The hack ran behind, and nearly jerked
110:116,25['  ]| Jack's arms out of their sockets, with its halts and its disinclination to$9$ trot.
110:116,26['  ]| Almost it hauled him out of the buggy sometimes.  He would much rather
110:116,27['  ]| have ridden the animal, but he had been requested to$9$ take the buggy, to$9$
110:116,28['  ]| spare it.
110:116,29['  ]| Mr and Mrs*Greenlow scarcely spoke on$4$ the journey; it would not have
110:116,30['  ]| been "showing sorrow."  But Jack felt they were enjoying themselves immensely,
110:116,31['  ]| driving in$4$ this morning air instead of being cooped up$5$ in$4$ the house,
110:116,32['  ]| she cooking and he with the Holy*Book.  The sun grew furiously hot.  But
110:116,33['  ]| Gum*Valley*Croft was seven miles nearer to$4$ Wandoo than the Ellis' Gum*Tree*Selection,
110:116,34['  ]| so$3$ they drove into the yard, wet with perspiration, just before
110:116,35['  ]| the mid-day meal was put on$5$ to$4$ the table.  Mrs*Ellis, aproned and bare-armed,
110:116,36['  ]| greeted them as they drove up$5$, calling out that$3$ 
110:116,36@i   | they should go right
110:116,37@i   | in$5$, and Jack should take the horses out of the buggy.
110:116,38['  ]| Quite a number of strange hacks were tethered here and there in$4$ the yard,
110:116,39['  ]| near odd empty vehicles, sulkies dejectedly leaning forward on$4$ empty shafts,
110:116,40['  ]| or buggies and wagonettes sturdily important on$4$ four wheels.  Yet the place
110:116,41['  ]| seemed strangely quiet.
110:116,42['  ]| Jack came back to$4$ the narrow verandah outside the parlour door, where
110:116,43['  ]| Mrs*Ellis had her fuchsias, ferns, cyclamens and musk growing in$4$ pots.  A
110:116,44['  ]| table had been set there, and dinner was in$4$ progress, the girls coming round
110:116,45['  ]| from the kitchen with the dishes.  Grace saw Jack hesitate, so$3$ she nodded to$4$
110:117,01['  ]| him.  He went to$4$ the kitchen and asked doubtfully:
110:117,02[A  ]| "How is she?"
110:117,03[E  ]| "Oh, bad!  Poor old dear.  They are all in$4$ there to$9$ say good-bye."
110:117,04['  ]| Lennie, who$6#1$ was sitting on$4$ the floor under the kitchen window, put his
110:117,05['  ]| head down on$4$ his arms and sobbed from a sort of nervousness, wailing:
110:117,06[J  ]| "Oh, my poor ol' Gran!  Oh, poor ol' dear!"
110:117,07['  ]| Jack, though upset, almost grinned.  
110:117,07@a   | Poor Gran indeed, with that$6#2$ ghastly
110:117,08@a   | swarm of relations.  He sat there on$4$ a chair, his nerves all on$4$ edge, noticing
110:117,09['  ]| little things acutely, as he always did when he was strung up$5$:  the flies
110:117,10['  ]| standing motionless on$4$ the chopping-block just outside the window, the
110:117,11['  ]| smooth-tramped gravel walk, the curious surface of the mud floor in$4$ the
110:117,12['  ]| kitchen, the smoky rafters overhead, the oven set in$4$ brick below the "everlasting"
110:117,13['  ]| fire, the blackness of the pots and kettles above the horizontal
110:117,14['  ]| bars ~~ 
110:117,15[I  ]| "Do you mind sitting in$4$ the parlour, Jack, in$4$ case they want anything?"  
110:117,15['  ]| Mrs*Ellis
110:117,16['  ]| asked him.
110:117,17['  ]| Jack minded, but he went and sat in$4$ the parlour, like$4$ a chief lackey, or a
110:117,18['  ]| buffer between all the relations and the outer world.
110:117,19['  ]| The house had become more quiet.  Monica had gone over to$4$ the Reds with
110:117,20['  ]| clean overalls for$4$ the little boys, who$6#1$ had been bundled off there.  Jack got
110:117,21['  ]| this piece of news from Grace, who$6#1$ was constantly washing more dishes and
110:117,22['  ]| serving more relations.  A certain anger burned in$4$ him as he heard, but he
110:117,23['  ]| took no$2$ notice.  Mary was lying down upstairs:  she had been up$5$ all night with
110:117,24['  ]| Gran.  Tom was attending to$4$ the horses.  Katie and Mrs*Ellis had gone
110:117,25['  ]| upstairs with baby and Ellie, and Mr*Ellis was also upstairs.  Lennie had
110:117,26['  ]| slipped away again.  So$3$ Jack had track of all the family.  He was always like$4$
110:117,27['  ]| that$6#2$, wanting to$9$ know where they all were.
110:117,28['  ]| Mrs*Greenlow came in$5$ from Gran's inner room.
110:117,29[V  ]| "Mary?  Where is Mary?"  
110:117,29['  ]| she asked hurriedly.
110:117,30['  ]| Jack shook his head, and she passed on$5$.  She had left the door of Gran's
110:117,31['  ]| room open, so$3$ Jack could see in$5$.  All the relations were there, horrible, the
110:117,32['  ]| women weeping and perspiring, and wiping tears and perspiration away
110:117,33['  ]| together, the men in$4$ their waistcoats and shirt-sleeves, perspiring and looking
110:117,34['  ]| ugly.  A Methodist parson son-in-law was saying prayers in$4$ an important
110:117,35['  ]| monotone.
110:117,36['  ]| At last Mary came, looking anxious.
110:117,37[B  ]| "Yes, Gran?  Did you want me?"  
110:117,37['  ]| Jack heard her voice, and saw her by$4$ the
110:117,38['  ]| bed.
110:117,39[M  ]| "I felt so$5#1$ overcome with all these people," 
110:117,39['  ]| said Gran, in$4$ a curiously strong,
110:117,40['  ]| yet frightened voice.  
110:117,40[M  ]| "What do they all want?"
110:117,41[B  ]| "They have come to$9$ see you.  Come" 
110:117,41['  ]| ~~ Mary hesitated ~~ 
110:117,41[B  ]| "to$9$ see if they can do
110:117,42[B  ]| anything for$4$ you."
110:117,43[M  ]| "To$9$ frighten the bit of life out of me that$6#1$ I have got, but they are not going to$9$.
110:117,44[M  ]| Get me some beef tea, Mary, and do not leave me alone with them."
110:117,45['  ]| Mary went out for$4$ the beef tea.  Then Jack saw Gran's white hand feebly
110:118,01['  ]| beckon.
110:118,02[M  ]| "Ruth!"  
110:118,02['  ]| she said.  
110:118,02[M  ]| "Ruth!"
110:118,03['  ]| The eldest daughter went over and took the hand, mopping her eyes.  She
110:118,04['  ]| was the parson's wife.
110:118,05[M  ]| "Well, Ruth, how are you?"  
110:118,05['  ]| said Gran's high, quavering voice, in$4$ a conversational
110:118,06['  ]| tone.
110:118,07[V  ]| "\I am\ well, Mother.  It is how are you?"  
110:118,07['  ]| replied Ruth dismally.
110:118,08['  ]| But Gran was again totally oblivious of her.  So$3$ at length Ruth dropped
110:118,09['  ]| away embarrassed from the bedside, shaking her head.
110:118,10['  ]| Again Gran lifted her head on$4$ the pillow.
110:118,11[M  ]| "Where is Jacob?"
110:118,12[V  ]| "Upstairs, Mother."
110:118,13[M  ]| "The only one that$6#1$ has the decency to$9$ leave me alone."  
110:118,13['  ]| And she subsided
110:118,14['  ]| again.  Then after a while she asked, without lifting her head from the pillow,
110:118,15['  ]| in$4$ a distant voice:
110:118,16[M  ]| "And are the foolish virgins here?"
110:118,17[V  ]| "Who$6#2$, Mother?"
110:118,18[M  ]| "The foolish virgins.  You know who$6#1$ I mean."
110:118,19['  ]| Gran lay with her eyes shut as she spoke.
110:118,20['  ]| There was an agitation among the family.  It was the brothers-in-law who$6#1$
110:118,21['  ]| pushed the three Miss*Ellises forward.  They, the poor things, wept audibly.
110:118,22['  ]| Gran opened her eyes at the sound, and said, with a ghost of a smile on$4$ her
110:118,23['  ]| yellow, transparent old face:
110:118,24[M  ]| "I hope virginity is its own reward."
110:118,25['  ]| Then she remained unmoved until Mary came with the soup, which$6#1$ she
110:118,26['  ]| took and slowly sipped as Mary administered it in$4$ a spoon.  It seemed to$9$
110:118,27['  ]| revive her.
110:118,28[M  ]| "Where is Lennie and his mother?"  
110:118,28['  ]| she asked, in$4$ a firmer tone.
110:118,29['  ]| These also were sent for$5$.  Mrs*Ellis sat by$4$ the bed and gently patted Gran's
110:118,30['  ]| arm; but Lennie, "skeered stiff," shivered at the door.  His mother held out
110:118,31['  ]| her hand to$4$ him, and he came in$5$, inch by$4$ inch, watching the fragile old Gran,
110:118,32['  ]| who$6#1$ looked transparent and absolutely unreal, with a fascination of horror.
110:118,33[M  ]| "Kiss me, Lennie," 
110:118,33['  ]| said Gran grimly:  exactly like$4$ Nelson.
110:118,34['  ]| Lennie shrank away.  Then, yielding to$4$ his mother's pressure, he laid his
110:118,35['  ]| dark smooth head and his brown face on$4$ the pillow next to$4$ Gran's face, but
110:118,36['  ]| he did not kiss her.
110:118,37[M  ]| "There is my precious!"  
110:118,37['  ]| said Gran softly, with all the soft, cajoling gentleness
110:118,38['  ]| that$6#1$ had made her so$5#1$ lovely, at moments, to$4$ her men.
110:118,39[M  ]| "Alice, you have been good to$4$ my Jacob," 
110:118,39['  ]| she said, as if remembering something.
110:118,40[M  ]| "There is the stocking.  It is for$4$ you and Lennie."  
110:118,40['  ]| She still managed to$9$
110:118,41['  ]| say the last words with a caress, though she was fading from consciousness
110:118,42['  ]| again.
110:118,43['  ]| Lennie drew away and hid behind his mother.  Gran lay still, exactly as if
110:118,44['  ]| dead.  But the laces of her eternal cap still stirred softly, to$9$ show she breathed.
110:118,45['  ]| The silence was almost unbearable.
110:119,01['  ]| To$9$ break it the Methodist son-in-law sank to$4$ his knees. The others followed
110:119,02['  ]| his example, and he prayed in$4$ a low, solemn, extinguished voice.
110:119,03['  ]| When he had said 
110:119,03[W  ]| \Amen\ 
110:119,03['  ]| the others whispered it and rose from their knees.
110:119,04['  ]| And by$4$ one consent they glided from the room.  They had had enough
110:119,05['  ]| deathbed for$4$ the moment.
110:119,06['  ]| Mary closed the inner door when they had gone, and remained alone in$4$
110:119,07['  ]| the room with Gran.
110:119,00[U  ]| <v>
110:119,08['  ]| The sons-in-law all melted through the parlour and out on$5$ to$4$ the verandah,
110:119,09['  ]| where they helped themselves from the decanter on$4$ the table, filling up$5$ from
110:119,10['  ]| the canvas water-bag that$6#1$ swung in$4$ the draught to$9$ keep cool.  The daughters
110:119,11['  ]| sat down by$4$ the table and wept, lugubriously and rather angrily.  The sons-in-law
110:119,12['  ]| drank and looked afflicted.  Jack remained on$4$ duty in$4$ the parlour,
110:119,13['  ]| though he would dearly have liked to$9$ decamp.
110:119,14['  ]| But he was now interested in$4$ the relations.  They began to$9$ weep less, and to$9$
110:119,15['  ]| talk in$4$ low, suppressed, vehement voices.  He could only catch bits.  
110:119,15[X  ]| "It is a
110:119,16[X  ]| question if he ever married Tom's mother.  I doubt if Tom is legitimate.  I
110:119,17[X  ]| do not even doubt it, I am sure.  We have suffered from that$6#2$ before.  Where is the
110:119,18[X  ]| stocking?  Stocking!  Stocking ~~ saved up$5$ ~~ bought Easu out.  Mother should
110:119,19[X  ]| know better.  If she is made a will$0$ ~~ Jacob's first marriage.  Children to$9$ educate
110:119,20[X  ]| and provide for$4$.  Unmarried daughters ~~ first claim.  Stocking ~~ "  
110:119,20['  ]| And then
110:119,21['  ]| quite plainly from Ruth:  
110:119,21[V  ]| "It is hard on$4$ our husbands if \they\ have to$9$ support
110:119,22[V  ]| mother's unmarried daughters."  
110:119,22['  ]| This said with dignity.
110:119,23['  ]| Jack glanced at the three Miss*Ellises, to$9$ see if they minded, and inwardly
110:119,24['  ]| he vowed that$3$ 
110:119,24@a   | if he ever married Monica, for$4$ example, and Grace was an
110:119,25@a   | unmarried sister, he would find some suitable way of supporting her, without
110:119,26@a   | making her feel ashamed.  But the three Miss*Ellises did not seem to$9$ mind.
110:119,27@a   | They were busy diving into secret pockets among their clothing, and fetching
110:119,28@a   | out secret little packages.  Someone dropped the glass stopper out of a
110:119,29@a   | bottle of smelling salts, and spilled the contents on$4$ the floor.  The pungent
110:119,30@a   | odour penetrated throughout the house.  
110:119,30['  ]| Jack never again smelt lavender
110:119,31['  ]| salts without having a foreboding of death, and seeing mysterious little
110:119,32['  ]| packets.  The three Miss*Ellises were surreptitiously laying out bits and tags of
110:119,33['  ]| black braid, crape, beading, black cloth, black lace; all black, wickedly black,
110:119,34['  ]| on$4$ the table edge.  Smoothing them out.  For$3$ as a matter of fact they kept a
110:119,35['  ]| little shop.  And everybody was looking with interest.  Jack felt quite
110:119,36['  ]| nauseated at the sight of these black blotches, the row of black patches.
110:119,37['  ]| Mary came out of Gran's room, going to$4$ the kitchen with the cup.  She did
110:119,38['  ]| not pass the verandah, so$3$ nobody noticed her.  They were all intent on$4$ the
110:119,39['  ]| muttering gloom of their investigation of those scraps of mourning patterns.
110:119,40['  ]| Jack felt the door of Gran's room slowly open.  Mary had left it just ajar.  He
110:119,41['  ]| looked round and his hair rose on$4$ his head.  
110:119,41@a   | There stood Gran, all white save
110:120,01@a   | for$4$ her eyes, like$4$ a yellow figure of aged female Time, standing with her
110:120,02@a   | hand on$4$ the door, looking across the parlour at the afternoon and the
110:120,03@a   | pre-occupied party on$4$ the verandah.  Her face was absolutely expressionless,
110:120,04@a   | timeless and awful.  It frightened him very much.  The inexorable female!  
110:120,04['  ]| He
110:120,05['  ]| uttered an exclamation, and they all looked up$5$, caught.
111:121,00[U  ]| <Blows>
111:121,00[U  ]| <i>
111:121,01['  ]| Jack managed to$9$ escape.  When the rooks were fluttered by$4$ the sight of
111:121,02['  ]| that$6#2$ ghostly white starling, he just ran.  He ran in$4$ disgust from the smell
111:121,03['  ]| of lavender salts, the tags of mourning patterns, respectable dying, and
111:121,04['  ]| these awful people.  
111:121,04@a   | Surely there was something rotten at the bottom of
111:121,05@a   | people, 
111:121,05['  ]| he thought, 
111:121,05@a   | to$9$ make them behave as they did.  
111:121,05['  ]| And again came over
111:121,06['  ]| him the feeling he had often had, that$3$ 
111:121,06@a   | he was a changeling, that$3$ he did not
111:121,07@a   | belong to$4$ the so-called "normal" human race.  Nor, by$4$ Jupiter, did he want to$9$.
111:121,08['  ]| The "normal" human race filled him with unspeakable repulsion.  And he
111:121,09['  ]| knew 
111:121,09@a   | they would kill him if they found out what he was.  
111:121,09['  ]| Hence that$6#2$ unconscious
111:121,10['  ]| dissembling of his innocent face.
111:121,11['  ]| He ran, glad to$9$ get into a sweat, glad to$9$ sweat it all out of himself.  Glad to$9$
111:121,12['  ]| feel the sun hot on$4$ his damp hands, and then the afternoon breeze, just
111:121,13['  ]| starting, cool on$4$ his wet skin.  When he reached the sand-bagged pool he took
111:121,14['  ]| off his clothes and spread them in$4$ the sun, while he wallowed in$4$ the luke-warm
111:121,15['  ]| water.  
111:121,15@a   | Ay!  if one could wash off one's associations!  If one could but be
111:121,16@a   | alone in$4$ the world.
111:121,17['  ]| After bathing he sat in$4$ the sun awhile to$9$ dry, then dressed and walked off
111:121,18['  ]| to$9$ look at the lower dam pump.  Tom had said it needed attending to$5$.  And
111:121,19['  ]| anyway it led him away from the house.
111:121,20['  ]| The pump was all right.  There had been a March shower that$6#1$ had put
111:121,21['  ]| water in$4$ the dam.  So$3$ after looking round at the sheep, he turned away.
111:121,22@a   | Which$6#2$ way?  Not back home.  Not yet.
111:121,23['  ]| The land breeze had lifted and the sea breeze had come, clearing the hot
111:121,24['  ]| dry atmosphere as if by$4$ magic, and replacing the furnace breath by$4$ tender
111:121,25['  ]| air.  
111:121,25@a   | Which$6#2$ way?
111:121,26['  ]| At the back of his mind was the thought of Monica not home yet from the
111:121,27['  ]| Red's place, and evening coming on$5$, another of the full golden evenings,
111:121,28['  ]| when the light seemed fierce with declaration of another eternity, a different
111:121,29['  ]| eternity from ours.
111:121,30['  ]| Last Sunday, on$4$ such an evening, he had kissed her.  And much as he
111:121,31['  ]| wanted to$9$ avoid her, the desire to$9$ kiss her again drove him as if the great
111:121,32['  ]| yellowing light were a wind that$6#1$ blew him, as a butterfly is blown twinkling
111:121,33['  ]| out to$4$ sea.  He drifted towards the trail from the Reds' place.  He walked
111:121,34['  ]| slowly, listening to$4$ the queer evening noise of the magpies, and the more
111:121,35['  ]| distant screeching of flying parrots.  Someone had disturbed the parrots
111:121,36['  ]| beyond the Black*Barn gums.  So$3$, as if by$4$ intuition, he walked that$6#2$ way,
111:121,37['  ]| slightly off the trail.
111:122,01['  ]| And suddenly he heard the sound his spirit expected to$9$ hear:  Monica
111:122,02['  ]| crying out in$4$ expostulation, anger, and fear.  It was the fear in$4$ her voice that$6#1$
111:122,03['  ]| made his face set.  His first instinct was not to$9$ intrude on$4$ their privacy.  Then
111:122,04['  ]| again came the queer, magpie noise of Monica, this time with the edge of real
111:122,05['  ]| hatred to$4$ her fear.  Jack pushed through the bushes.  He could smell the
111:122,06['  ]| warm horses already.
111:122,07@a   | Yes, there was Lucy standing by$4$ a tree.  And Monica, in$4$ a long skirt of
111:122,08@a   | pink-sprigged cotton, with a frill at the bottom, trying to$9$ get up$5$ into the
111:122,09@a   | side-saddle.  While Easu, in$4$ his Sunday black reach-me-downs and white shirt
111:122,10@a   | and white rubber-soled cricketing boots, every time she set her foot in$4$ the
111:122,11@a   | stirrup, put his hand round her waist and spread his fingers on$4$ her body,
111:122,12@a   | and lifted her down again, lifted her on$4$ one hand in$4$ a childish and ridiculous
111:122,13@a   | fashion, and held her in$4$ a moment's embrace.  She in$4$ her long cotton
111:122,14@a   | riding-dress with the close-fitting bodice, did indeed look absurd hung like$4$ a
111:122,15@a   | child on$4$ Easu's hand, as he lifted her down and held her struggling against
111:122,16@a   | him, then let her go once more, to$9$ mount her horse.  Lucy was shifting
111:122,17@a   | uneasily, and Easu's big black horse, tethered to$4$ a tree, was jerking his head
111:122,18@a   | with a jingle of the bit.  The girth hung loose.  Easu had evidently dismounted
111:122,19@a   | to$9$ adjust it.
111:122,20['  ]| Monica was becoming really angry, really afraid, and really blind with
111:122,21['  ]| dismay, feeling for$4$ the first time her absolute powerlessness.  To$9$ be powerless
111:122,22['  ]| drove her mad, and she would have killed Easu if she could, without a
111:122,23['  ]| qualm.  But her hate seemed to$9$ rouse the big Easu to$4$ a passion of desire of
111:122,24['  ]| her.  He put his two big hands round her slender body and compassed her
111:122,25['  ]| entirely.  She gave a loud, strange, uncanny scream.  and Jack came out of the
111:122,26['  ]| bushes, making the black horse plunge.  Easu glanced round at the horse,
111:122,27['  ]| and saw Jack.  And at the same time our hero planted a straight, vicious blow
111:122,28['  ]| on$4$ the bearded chin.  Easu, unprepared, staggered up$5$ against Lucy, who$6#1$
111:122,29['  ]| began to$9$ jump, while Monica, tangled in$4$ her long skirt, fell to$4$ her knees on$4$
111:122,30['  ]| the ground.
111:122,31[A  ]| "Quite a picture!"  
111:122,31['  ]| Jack said to$4$ himself.  Even he saw himself standing there,
111:122,32['  ]| like$4$ Jack the Giant-killer.  And of course he saw Monica on$4$ her knees, with
111:122,33['  ]| tumbled hair and scarlet cheeks, unspeakably furious at being caught, angrily
111:122,34['  ]| hitching herself out of her long cotton riding-skirt and pressing her
111:122,35['  ]| cheeks to$9$ make them less red.  She was silent, with averted face, and she
111:122,36['  ]| seemed small.  He saw Easu in$4$ the Sunday white shirt and rather tight Sunday
111:122,37['  ]| breeches, facing round in$4$ unspeakable disgust and fury.  He saw himself in$4$ a
111:122,38['  ]| ready-made cotton suit and cheap brown canvas shoes, bought at the local
111:122,39['  ]| store, standing awaiting an onslaught.
111:122,40['  ]| The onslaught did not come.  Instead, Easu said, in$4$ a tone of unutterable
111:122,41['  ]| contempt:
111:122,42[N  ]| "Why, what is up$5$ with you, you little sod?"
111:122,43['  ]| Jack turned to$4$ Monica.  She had got on$5$ to$4$ her feet and was pushing her hair
111:122,44['  ]| under her hat.
111:122,45[A  ]| "Monica," 
111:122,45['  ]| he said, 
111:122,45[A  ]| "you had better get home.  Gran is dying."
111:123,01['  ]| She looked at him, and a slow, wicked smile of amusement came over her
111:123,02['  ]| face.  Then she broke into a queer hollow laugh, at the bottom of which$6#1$ was
111:123,03['  ]| rage and frustration.  Then her laugh rose higher.
111:123,04[D  ]| "Ha!  Ha!  Ha!" 
111:123,04['  ]| she laughed.  
111:123,04[D  ]| "Ah, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!  Ha-ha-ha!  Ah!!  Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!
111:123,05[D  ]| Ha-ha-ha!  Ah!!!  Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!  Ah!  Ha-ha!  Ha!  Ah!
111:123,06[D  ]| Gran is dying!  Ha-ha-ha!  Is she really?  Oh, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!  No$7$, I do not mean
111:123,07[D  ]| it.  But it seems so$5#1$ funny!  Ah!  Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!  ah!  Ha-ha-ha!"
111:123,08['  ]| She smothered herself into a confused bubbling.  The two men stood
111:123,09['  ]| aghast, shuddering at the strange hysterical woman's laughter that$6#1$ went
111:123,10['  ]| shrilling through the bush.  They were horrified lest someone else should
111:123,11['  ]| hear.
111:123,12['  ]| Monica in$4$ her cotton frock and long sweeping skirt, stood pushing her
111:123,13['  ]| handkerchief in$4$ her mouth and trying in$4$ vain to$9$ stifle the hysterical laughter
111:123,14['  ]| that$6#1$ still shook her slender body.  Occasionally a strange peal, like$4$ mad bells,
111:123,15['  ]| would break out.  And then she ended with a passionate sobbing.
111:123,16[D  ]| "I know!  I know!"  
111:123,16['  ]| she sobbed, like$4$ a child.  
111:123,16[D  ]| "Gran is dying, and you will$1$ not let
111:123,17[D  ]| me go home."
111:123,18[A  ]| "You can go home," 
111:123,18['  ]| Jack said.  
111:123,18[A  ]| "You can go home.  But do not go with your
111:123,19[A  ]| face all puffed up$5$ with crying."
111:123,20['  ]| She gradually gained control of herself, and turned away to$4$ her horse.
111:123,21['  ]| Jack went to$9$ help her mount.  She got into the saddle, and he gave her the
111:123,22['  ]| reins.  She kept her face averted, and Lucy began to$9$ move away slowly,
111:123,23['  ]| towards the home track.
111:123,24['  ]| Easu still stood there, planted with his feet apart, his head a little dropped,
111:123,25['  ]| and a furious, contemptuous, revengeful hate of the other two in$4$ his light
111:123,26['  ]| blue eyes.  He had his head down, ready for$4$ an attack. Jack saw this, and
111:123,27['  ]| waited.
111:123,28[N  ]| "Going to$9$ take your punishment?"  
111:123,28['  ]| said Easu, in$4$ a nasty voice.
111:123,29[A  ]| "Ready when you are," 
111:123,29['  ]| said Jack.
111:123,30@a   | Ugh!  How he hated Easu's ugly, jeering, evil eyes, how he would love to$9$
111:123,31@a   | smash them out of his head.  
111:123,31['  ]| In$4$ the long run, hate was an even keener ecstacy
111:123,32['  ]| than love, and the battle of hate, the fight with blood in$4$ the eyes, an orgasm
111:123,33['  ]| of deadly gratification keener than any passionate orgasm of love.
111:123,34['  ]| Easu slowly threw his hat on$4$ the ground.  Jack did the same, and started to$9$
111:123,35['  ]| pull off his coat.  Easu glanced round to$9$ see if Monica was going.  She was.  Her
111:123,36['  ]| back was already turned, and Lucy was stepping gingerly through the
111:123,37['  ]| bushes.  He lifted his chin, unknotted his tie, and threw it in$4$ his hat.  Then he
111:123,38['  ]| unbuttoned his shirt cuffs, and pulled off his shirt, and hitched his belt.  He
111:123,39['  ]| was now naked to$4$ the waist.  He had a very white skin with reddish hair at the
111:123,40['  ]| breast, and an angular kind of force.  His red-haired brawny arms were burnt
111:123,41['  ]| bright red, as was his neck.  For$4$ the rest his skin was pure white, with the
111:123,42['  ]| dazzle of absolute health.  Yet he was ugly rather than beautiful.  The queer
111:123,43['  ]| angularity of his brawn, the sense of hostile mechanical power.  The sense of
111:123,44['  ]| the mechanism of power in$4$ him made him like$4$ some devil fallen into a lower
111:123,45['  ]| grade.
111:124,01['  ]| Jack's torso was rather absurdly marked by$4$ the sunburnt scallops of his
111:124,02['  ]| vest-lines, for$3$ he worked a good deal in$4$ a vest.  Easu always wore a shirt and
111:124,03['  ]| no$2$ vest.  And Jack, in$4$ spite of the thinness of youth, seemed to$9$ have softer
111:124,04['  ]| lines and a more human proportion, more grace.  And there was a warmth in$4$
111:124,05['  ]| his white skin, making it much less conspicuous than the really dazzling
111:124,06['  ]| brilliance of Easu.  Easu was a good deal bigger, but Jack was more concentrated,
111:124,07['  ]| and a born fighter.  He fought with all his soul.
111:124,08['  ]| He shaped up$5$ to$4$ Easu, and Easu made ready, when they were interrupted
111:124,09['  ]| by$4$ a cry from Monica, in$4$ a high, hysterical voice.  They looked up$5$.  She had
111:124,10['  ]| reined in$5$ her horse among the bushes, and was looking round at them with a
111:124,11['  ]| queer, sharp, terrified face, from the distance.  Her shrill voice cried:
111:124,12[D  ]| "Do not forget he saved Herbert's life."
111:124,13['  ]| Both men faced round and looked at her as if she had committed an
111:124,14['  ]| indecency.  She quailed in$4$ her saddle.  Easu, with a queer jerk of his head,
111:124,15['  ]| motioned to$4$ her to$9$ go.  She sank a little forward in$4$ her saddle, and hurriedly
111:124,16['  ]| urged her horse through the bush, out of sight, without ever looking round,
111:124,17['  ]| leaving the men, as she knew, to$4$ their heart's desire.
111:124,18['  ]| They waited for$4$ a while.  Then they lifted their fists again, and drew near.
111:124,19['  ]| Jack began the light, subtle, harmonious dancing which$6#1$ preceded his attack.
111:124,20['  ]| He always attacked, no$2$  matter whom he fought.  He could not fight unless he
111:124,21['  ]| took the initiative.  So$3$ now he danced warily, subtly before Easu, and Easu
111:124,22['  ]| stood ready to$9$ side-step.  Easu was bigger, harder, much more powerful than
111:124,23['  ]| Jack, and built in$4$ hard mechanical lines:  the kind that$6#1$ is difficult to$9$ knock
111:124,24['  ]| out, if you have not much weight behind your blow.
111:124,25[N  ]| "Are you insured?"  
111:124,25['  ]| sneered Easu.
111:124,26['  ]| But Jack did not listen.  He had always fought with people bigger and older
111:124,27['  ]| than himself.  But he had never before had this strange lust dancing in$4$ his
111:124,28['  ]| blood, the lust of rage dancing for$4$ its consummation in$4$ blows.  He had known
111:124,29['  ]| it before, as a sort of game.  But now the lust bit into his very soul, and he was
111:124,30['  ]| quivering with accumulated desire, the desire to$9$ hit Easu hard, hit him till he
111:124,31['  ]| knocked him out.  He wanted to$9$ hit him till he knocked him out.
111:124,32['  ]| And he knew himself deficient in$4$ brute power.  So$3$ he must make up$5$ in$4$
111:124,33['  ]| quickness and skill and concentration.  When he did strike it must be a fine
111:124,34['  ]| blow that$6#1$ went deep.  He had confidence in$4$ his power to$9$ do it.  Only ~~ and this
111:124,35['  ]| was the disturbing element ~~ he knew there was not much \time\.  And he
111:124,36['  ]| would rather be knocked out himself than have the fight spoiled in$4$ the
111:124,37['  ]| middle.
111:124,38['  ]| He moved lightly and led Easu on$5$, ducked, bobbed up$5$ again, and began to$9$
111:124,39['  ]| be consummately happy.  Easu could not get at him.
111:124,40[N  ]| "Come on$5$!"  
111:124,40['  ]| said Easu thickly.
111:124,41['  ]| So$3$ suddenly he came on$5$, and bang!  bang!  went his  knuckles against that$6#2$
111:124,42['  ]| insulting chin.  And he felt joy spring in$4$ his bowels.
111:124,43['  ]| but he did not escape without punishment.  Pat! ~~ butt!  Pat! ~~ butt!  went
111:124,44['  ]| Easu's swinging blows down over his back.  But Jack got in$5$ two more.  Bang!
111:124,45['  ]| bang!  He knew by$4$ the exquisite pain of his knuckles that$3$ he had struck deep,
111:125,01['  ]| pierced the marrow of the other with pain of defeat.
111:125,02['  ]| Pat ~~ butt!  Pat ~~ butt!  came the punishment.
111:125,03['  ]| But Jack was out again, dancing softly, electric joy in$4$ his bowels.  Then
111:125,04['  ]| suddenly he sprang back at Easu, his arms swinging in$4$ strange, vindictive
111:125,05['  ]| sideways swoops.  Ping!  Pong!  Ping!  Pong!  rapid as lightning.  Easu fell back a
111:125,06['  ]| little dazed before this sudden rain of white blows, but Jack followed,
111:125,07['  ]| followed, followed, nimbly, warily, but with deadly, flickering intent.
111:125,08['  ]| Crash!  Easu went down, but caught Jack a heavy smash in$4$ the face with his
111:125,09['  ]| right fist as he fell.  Jack reeled away.
111:125,10['  ]| And then poised, waiting, watching, with blood running from bruised
111:125,11['  ]| cuts on$4$ his swelling face, one eye rapidly closing, he stood well forward, fists
111:125,12['  ]| in$4$ true boxing trim, and a deep gratification of joy in$4$ his dark belly.
111:125,13['  ]| Easu rose slowly, foaming at the mouth; then, getting to$4$ his feet, rushed
111:125,14['  ]| head down, in$4$ a convulsion, at his adversary.  Jack stepped aside, but not
111:125,15['  ]| quick enough.  He caught Easu a blow with his left under the ear, but not in$4$
111:125,16['  ]| time to$9$ stop the impact.  Easu's head butted right where he wanted it to$9$ ~~ into
111:125,17['  ]| his enemy's stomach; though not full in$4$ the pit.  Jack fell back winded, and
111:125,18['  ]| Red also fell again, giving Jack time to$9$ throw back his head and whoop for$4$ a
111:125,19['  ]| few mouthfuls of air.  So$3$ that$3$ when Red rushed in$5$ again, he was able feebly to$9$
111:125,20['  ]| fence and stall him off, stepping aside and hitting again, but woefully
111:125,21['  ]| clipping, smacking only ~~
111:125,22[W  ]| "Foul!  He is winded!  Foul!"  
111:125,22['  ]| yelled someone from the bushes.  
111:125,22[W  ]| "Time!"
111:125,23[N  ]| "Not for$4$ mine," 
111:125,23['  ]| roared Easu.
111:125,24['  ]| He sprang and dashed at his gasping, gulping adversary, whirling his arms
111:125,25['  ]| like$4$ iron piston-rods.  Jack dodged the propelled whirl, but stumbled over
111:125,26['  ]| one of the big feet stuck out to$9$ trip him.  Easu hit as he fell, and swung a
111:125,27['  ]| crashing left-right about the sinking, unprotected head.  And when Jack was
111:125,28['  ]| down, kicked the prostrate body in$4$ an orgasm of fury.
111:125,29[Q  ]| "Foul, you swine!"  
111:125,29['  ]| screamed Rackett, springing in$5$ like$4$ a tiger.  Easu,
111:125,30['  ]| absolutely blind with rage and hate, stared hellish and unseeing.  Jack lay
111:125,31['  ]| crumpled on$4$ the floor.  Dr*Rackett stooped down to$4$ him, as Tom and Lennie
111:125,32['  ]| and Alec*Rice ran in$5$.  Easu went and dropped on$4$ a fallen log, sitting blowing
111:125,33['  ]| to$9$ get his wind and his consciousness back.  He was unconscious with fury,
111:125,34['  ]| like$4$ some awful Thing, not like$4$ a man.
111:125,35[Q  ]| "My God, Easu!"  
111:125,35['  ]| screamed Rackett, who$6#1$ had lifted the dead head of Jack
111:125,36['  ]| on$5$ to$4$ his knees.  
111:125,36[Q  ]| "If you have done for$4$ him I will$1$ have you indicted."
111:125,37['  ]| And Easu, slowly, heavily coming back to$4$ consciousness, lifted his head,
111:125,38['  ]| and the blue pupils of his red eyes went ugly with evil fear, his bruised face
111:125,39['  ]| seemed to$9$ have dropped with fear.
111:125,40['  ]| He waited, vacant, empty with fear.
111:125,41['  ]| At length Jack stirred.  There was life in$4$ him.  And at once the bully Easu
111:125,42['  ]| began to$9$ talk wide.
111:125,43[N  ]| "Bloody little ~~ came at me bashing me jaw when I had never touched him.
111:125,44[N  ]| Had to$9$ fight to$9$ defend myself.  Bloody little ~~ !"
111:125,45['  ]| Jack opened his eyes and struggled to$9$ rise.
111:126,01[A  ]| "Anybody counting?"  
111:126,01['  ]| he said stupidly.  But he could not get up$5$.
111:126,02[Q  ]| "It was a foul," 
111:126,02['  ]| said Rackett.
111:126,03[N  ]| "Foul be blithered!"  
111:126,03['  ]| shouted Easu.  
111:126,03[N  ]| "It was a free fight and no$2$ blasted
111:126,04[N  ]| umpires asked for$5$.  If that$6#2$ bloody bastard wants some more, let him get up$5$.
111:126,05[N  ]| I am goin' to$9$ teach him to$9$ come crowin' over an Australian."
111:126,06['  ]| But Jack was on$4$ his unsteady feet.  
111:126,06@a   | He would fight now if he died for$4$ it.
111:126,07[A  ]| "Teach me!"  
111:126,07['  ]| he said vaguely, and sprang like$4$ a cat out of a bag on$4$ the
111:126,08['  ]| astonished and rather frightened Easu.
111:126,09['  ]| But something was very wrong.  When his left fist rang home it caused such
111:126,10['  ]| an agony that$3$ a sheer scream of pain tore from him, clearing the mists from
111:126,11['  ]| his brain in$4$ a strange white light.  He was now fully conscious again, super-conscious.
111:126,12['  ]| He knew he must hit with his right, and hit hard.  He heard
111:126,13['  ]| nothing, and saw nothing.  But with a kind of trance vision he was super-awake.
111:126,14['  ]|
111:126,15['  ]| Man is like$4$ this.  He has various levels of consciousness.  When he is broken,
111:126,16['  ]| killed at one level of consciousness, his very death leaves him on$4$ a higher
111:126,17['  ]| level.  And this is the soul in$4$ its entirety being conscious, super-conscious far
111:126,18['  ]| beyond mentality.  It hardly needs eyes or ears.  It is clairvoyant and clairaudient.
111:126,19['  ]| And man's divinity, and his ultimate power, is in$4$ this super-consciousness
111:126,20['  ]| of the whole soul.  Not in$4$ brute force, not in$4$ skill or intelligence
111:126,21['  ]| alone.  But in$4$ the soul's extreme power of knowing and then willing.  On$4$ this
111:126,22['  ]| alone hangs the destiny of all mankind.
111:126,23['  ]| Jack, uncertain on$4$ his feet, incorporate, wounded to$4$ horrible pain in$4$ his
111:126,24['  ]| left hand, was now in$4$ the second state of consciousness and power.  Meanwhile,
111:126,25['  ]| the doctor was warning Easu to$9$ play fair.  Jack heard absolutely
111:126,26['  ]| without hearing.  But Easu was bothered by$4$ it.
111:126,27['  ]| He was flustered by$4$ Jack's unexpected uprising.  He was weary and wavering,
111:126,28['  ]| the paroxysm of his ungovernable fury had left him, and he had a desire
111:126,29['  ]| to$9$ escape.  His rage was dull and sullen.
111:126,30['  ]| Jack was softly swaying.  Easu shaped up$5$ and waited.  And suddenly Jack
111:126,31['  ]| sprang, with all the weight of his nine stone behind him, and all the mystery
111:126,32['  ]| of his soul's deadly will$0$, and planted a blow on$4$ Easu's astonished chin with his
111:126,33['  ]| granite right fist.  Before there was any recovery he got in$5$ a second blow, and
111:126,34['  ]| it was a knockout.  Easu crashed and Jack crashed after him, and both lay still.
111:126,35['  ]| Doctor*Rackett, watch in$4$ hand, counted.  Easu stared at the darkening
111:126,36['  ]| blue, and sat up$5$.  An oath came out of his disfigured mouth.  Dr*Rackett put
111:126,37['  ]| the watch in$4$ his pocket as Easu got to$4$ his feet.  But Jack did not move.  He lay
111:126,38['  ]| in$4$ a dead faint.
111:126,39['  ]| Lennie, the emotional, began to$9$ cry when he saw Jack's bruised, greenish-looking
111:126,40['  ]| face.  Dr%*Rackett was feeling the pulse and the heart.
111:126,41[Q  ]| "Take the horse and fetch some whiskey and some water, Tom," 
111:126,41['  ]| he said.
111:126,42['  ]| Tom turned to$4$ Easu, who$6#1$ stood with his head down and his mouth all cut,
111:126,43['  ]| watching, waiting to$9$ depart, undecided.
111:126,44[H  ]| "I will$1$ borrow your horse a minute, Easu," 
111:126,44['  ]| he said.  And Easu did not answer.
111:126,45['  ]| He was getting into his shirt again, and for$4$ the moment none of him was
111:127,01['  ]| visible save the belt of white skin round the waist.  Tom pulled up$5$ the girth of
111:127,02['  ]| the black horse, and jumped into the saddle.  Lennie slipped up$5$ behind him,
111:127,03['  ]| face still wet with tears.  Easu's face emerged, disfigured, out of his white
111:127,04['  ]| shirt, and watched them go.  Rackett attended to$4$ Jack, who$6#1$ still gave no$2$ signs
111:127,05['  ]| of life.  Alec*Rice stood beside the kneeling doctor, silent and impassive.
111:127,06['  ]| Easu slowly buttoned his shirt cuffs and shirt collar, with numb fingers.
111:127,07['  ]| The pain was just beginning to$9$ come out, and he made queer slight grimaces
111:127,08['  ]| with his distorted face.  Slowly he got his black tie, and holding up$5$ his chin
111:127,09['  ]| fastened it round his throat, clumsily.  He was not the same Easu that$6#1$ had set
111:127,10['  ]| off so$5#1$ huge and assertive, with Monica.
111:127,11['  ]| Lennie came running with a tin of water.  He had slipped off the horse at
111:127,12['  ]| the lower dam, and found the tin which$6#1$ he kept secreted there.  Dr*Rackett
111:127,13['  ]| put a wet handkerchief on$4$ Jack's still dead face.  Under the livid skin the
111:127,14['  ]| bruises and the blood showed terrifying, one eye already swollen up$5$.  The
111:127,15['  ]| queer mask of a face looked as if the soul, or the life, had retreated from it in$4$
111:127,16['  ]| weariness or disgust.  It looked like$4$ somebody else's altogether.
111:127,17[J  ]| "He is not dead, is he?"  
111:127,17['  ]| whimpered Lennie, terrified most of all because
111:127,18['  ]| Jack, with his swollen face and puffed eye, looked like$4$ somebody else.
111:127,19[Q  ]| "No$7$!  But I wish Tom would come with that$6#2$ whiskey."
111:127,20['  ]| As he spoke, they heard the crashing sound of the horse through the
111:127,21['  ]| bushes, and Tom's red, anxious face appeared.  He swung out of the saddle
111:127,22['  ]| and dropped the reins on$4$ the ground.
111:127,23['  ]| Dr*Rackett pressed the bruised chin, pressed the mouth open, and poured
111:127,24['  ]| a little liquor down Jack's throat.  There was no$2$ response.  He poured a little
111:127,25['  ]| more whiskey.  There came a slight choking sound, and then the one dark-blue
111:127,26['  ]| eye opened vacant.  It stared in$4$ vacancy for$4$ some moments, while
111:127,27['  ]| everybody stood with held breath.  Then the whiskey began to$9$ have effect.
111:127,28['  ]| Life seemed to$9$ give a movement of itself, in$4$ the boy's body, and the wide-open
111:127,29['  ]| eye took a conscious direction.  It stared straight into the eyes of Easu,
111:127,30['  ]| who$6#1$ stood there looking down, detached, in$4$ humiliation, derision and uneasiness.
111:127,31['  ]| It stared with a queer, natural recognition, and a faint jeering, uneasy
111:127,32['  ]| grin was the reflex on$4$ Easu's disfigured mask.
111:127,33[N  ]| "Guess he has had enough for$4$ once," 
111:127,33['  ]| said Easu, and, turning, he picked up$5$
111:127,34['  ]| his horse's reins, dropped into the saddle, and rode straight away.
111:127,35[Q  ]| "Feel bad?"  
111:127,35['  ]| Dr*Rackett asked.
111:127,36[A  ]| "Rotten!"  
111:127,36['  ]| said Jack.
111:127,37['  ]| And at last Lennie recognised the voice.  He could not recognise the face,
111:127,38['  ]| especially with that$6#2$ bunged-up eye peering gruesomely through a gradually
111:127,39['  ]| diminishing slit, Hun-like.
111:127,40['  ]| Dr*Rackett smiled slightly.
111:127,41[Q  ]| "Where is your pain?"  
111:127,41['  ]| he asked.
111:127,42['  ]| Jack thought about it.  Then he looked into Rackett's eyes without answering.
111:127,43['  ]|
111:127,44[Q  ]| "Think you can stand?"  
111:127,44['  ]| said Rackett.
111:127,45[A  ]| "Try me."
111:128,01['  ]| They got him to$4$ his feet.  Everything began to$9$ swim again.  Rackett's arm
111:128,02['  ]| came round him.
111:128,03[A  ]| "Did he knock me out?"  
111:128,03['  ]| Jack asked.  The question came from his half-consciousness:
111:128,04['  ]| from a feeling that$3$ the battle with Easu was not yet finished.
111:128,05[Q  ]| "No$7$.  You knocked him out.  Let us get your coat on$5$."
111:128,06['  ]| But as he shoved his arm into his coat he knew he was fainting again, and
111:128,07['  ]| he almost wept, feeling his consciousness and his control going.  He thought
111:128,08['  ]| it was just his stiff, swollen, unnatural face that$6#1$ caused it.
111:128,09[H  ]| "Can you walk?"  
111:128,09['  ]| asked Tom anxiously.
111:128,10[A  ]| "Do not walk on$4$ my face, do I?"  
111:128,10['  ]| came the words.  But as they came, so$3$ did the
111:128,11['  ]| reeling, nauseous oblivion.  He fainted again, and was carried home like$4$ a
111:128,12['  ]| sack over Tom's back.
111:128,13['  ]| When he came to$5$, he was on$4$ his bed, Lennie was feverishly pulling off his
111:128,14['  ]| shoes, and Dr*Rackett was feeling him all over.  Dr*Rackett smelt of drugs.
111:128,15['  ]| But now Rackett's face was earnest and attentive, he looked a nice man, only
111:128,16['  ]| weak.
111:128,17['  ]| Jack thought at once of Gran.
111:128,18[A  ]| "How is Gran?"  
111:128,18['  ]| he asked.
111:128,19[Q  ]| "She has picked up$5$ again.  The relations put her in$4$ a wax, so$3$ she came to$4$ life
111:128,20[Q  ]| again."
111:128,21[J  ]| "You are the one now, you look an awful sight," 
111:128,21['  ]| said Len.
111:128,22[A  ]| "Did anybody see me," 
111:128,22['  ]| asked Jack, dim and anxious.
111:128,23[J  ]| "Only Grace, so$5#1$ far."
111:128,24['  ]| Rackett, who$6#1$ was busy bandaging, saw the fever of anxiety coming into the
111:128,25['  ]| one live eye.
111:128,26[Q  ]| "Do not talk," 
111:128,26['  ]| he said.  
111:128,26[Q  ]| "Len, he must not talk at all.  He has got to$9$ go to$4$ sleep."
111:128,27['  ]| After they had got his night-shirt on$5$, they gave him something to$9$ drink,
111:128,28['  ]| and he went to$4$ sleep.
111:128,00[U  ]| <ii>
111:128,29['  ]| When he awoke it was dark.  His head felt enormous.  
111:128,29@a   | It was getting bigger
111:128,30@a   | and bigger, till soon it would fill the room.  Soon his head would be so$5#1$ big it
111:128,31@a   | would fill all the room, and the room would be too small for$4$ it.  Oh, horror!
111:128,32['  ]| He was so$5#1$ frightened, he cried out.
111:128,33[J  ]| "What is amiss?"  
111:128,33['  ]| a quick voice was asking.
111:128,34[A  ]| "Make a light!  Make a light!"  
111:128,34['  ]| cried Jack.
111:128,35['  ]| Lennie quickly lit a candle, and to$4$ Jack's agonized relief there was the
111:128,36['  ]| cubby, the bed, the walls, all of natural dimensions, and Tom and Lennie in$4$
111:128,37['  ]| their night-shirts standing by$4$ his bed.
111:128,38[J  ]| "What's-a-matter, ol' dear?"  
111:128,38['  ]| Lennie asked caressively.
111:128,39[A  ]| "My head!  I thought it was getting so$5#1$ big the room could not hold it."
111:128,40[J  ]| "Aw!  Go on$5$ now!"  
111:128,40['  ]| said Lennie.  
111:128,40[J  ]| "Your face is a bit puffy, but your head is same as
111:128,41[J  ]| ever it was."
111:129,01['  ]| Jack could not believe it.  He was so$5#1$ sensually convinced that$3$ his head had
111:129,02['  ]| grown enormous, enormous, enormous.
111:129,03['  ]| He started at Lennie and Tom in$4$ dismay.  Lennie stroked his hair softly.
111:129,04[J  ]| "There is your ol' nut!"  
111:129,04['  ]| he said.  
111:129,04[J  ]| "It is not no$2$ bigger than it ever was.  Just exactly
111:129,05[J  ]| same life-size."
111:129,06['  ]| Gradually Jack let himself be convinced.  And at last he let them blow the
111:129,07['  ]| candle out.  He went to$4$ sleep.
111:129,08['  ]| He woke again with a frenzy working in$4$ him.  He had pain, too.  But far
111:129,09['  ]| worse than the pain was the tearing of the raging discomfort, the frenzy of
111:129,10['  ]| dislocation.  And in$4$ his stiff, swollen head, there was something he remembered
111:129,11['  ]| but could not drag into light.  
111:129,11@a   | What was it?  What was it?  
111:129,11['  ]| In$4$ the frenzy of
111:129,12['  ]| struggle to$9$ know, he went vague.
111:129,13['  ]| Then it came to$4$ him, words as plain as knives.
111:129,14@z   | And when I die
111:129,15@z   | In$4$ hell I shall lie
111:129,16@z   | With fire and chains
111:129,17@z   | And awful pains.
111:129,18['  ]| The aunts had repeated this to$4$ him, as a child, when he was naughty.  And it
111:129,19['  ]| had always struck a vague terror into his soul.  He had forgotten it.  Now it
111:129,20['  ]| came again.
111:129,21@z   | In$4$ hell I shall lie
111:129,22@z   | With fire and chains
111:129,23@z   | And awful pains.
111:129,24['  ]| He had a vivid realisation of this hell.  
111:129,24@a   | That$6#2$ was where he lay at that$6#2$ very
111:129,25['  ]| moment.
111:129,26@x   | "You must be a good, loving little boy."
111:129,27@a   | He had never wanted to$9$ be a good, loving little boy.  Something in$4$ his
111:129,28@a   | bowels revolted from being a good, loving little boy, revolted in$4$ nausea.  
111:129,28@x   | "But
111:129,29@x   | if you are not a good, loving little boy,
111:129,30@z   | Then when you die
111:129,31@z   | In$4$ hell you will$1$ lie ~~ etc.
111:129,32[A  ]| "Let me lie in$4$ hell, then," 
111:129,32['  ]| the bad and unloving little boy had answered, to$4$
111:129,33['  ]| the shocked horror of the aunts.  And the answere had scared even himself.
111:129,34@a   | And now the hell was on$4$ him.  And still he was not a good, loving little boy.
111:129,35['  ]| He remembered his lessons:  
111:129,35@z   | Love your enemies.
111:129,36@a   | "Do I love Easu?"  
111:129,36['  ]| he asked himself.  And he writhed over in$4$ bed in$4$ disgust.
111:129,37@a   | He loathed Easu.  If he could crush him absolutely to$4$ powder, he would crush
111:129,38@a   | him to$4$ powder.  Make him extinct.
111:129,39[A  ]| "Lord, Lord!"  
111:129,39['  ]| he groaned.  
111:129,39[A  ]| "I loathe Easu.  I loathe him."
111:129,40@a   | What was amiss with him?  Did he want to$9$ leave off loathing Easu?  Was that$6#2$
111:129,41@a   | the root of his sickness and fever?
111:129,42['  ]| But when he thought of Easu's figure and face, he knew 
111:129,42@a   | he did not want to$9$
111:129,43@a   | leave off loathing him.  He \did\ loathe him, whether he wanted to$9$ or not, and
111:129,44@a   | the fact to$4$ him was sacred.  It went right through the core of him.
111:129,45[A  ]| "Lord!  Lord!"  
111:129,45['  ]| he groaned, writhing in$4$ fever.  
111:129,45[A  ]| "Lord, help me to$9$ loathe him
111:130,01[A  ]| properly.  Lord, I will$1$ kill him if you want me to$9$; and if you do not want me to$9$, I
111:130,02[A  ]| will$1$ not.  I will$1$ kill him if you want me to$9$.  But if you do not want me to$9$, I will$1$ not care
111:130,03[A  ]| any more."
111:130,04['  ]| The pledge seemed to$9$ soothe him.  At the back of Jack's consciousness was
111:130,05['  ]| always this mysterious Lord, to$4$ whom he cried in$4$ the night.  And this Lord
111:130,06['  ]| put commands upon$4$ him, but so$5#1$ darkly, Jack could not easily find out what
111:130,07['  ]| the commands were.  The aunts had always said the command was to$9$ be a 
111:130,08['  ]| good, loving little boy.  But when he tried being a good, loving little boy, his
111:130,09['  ]| soul seemed to$9$ lose his Lord, and turn wicked.  That$6#2$ was what made him fear
111:130,10['  ]| hell.  When he seemed to$9$ lose connection with his great, mysterious Lord,
111:130,11['  ]| with whom he communed absolutely alone, he became aware of hell.  And he
111:130,12['  ]| could not share with his aunts that$6#2$ Jesus whom they always commended.  At
111:130,13['  ]| the Sacrament, something in$4$ his soul stood still and cold.  He knew that$6#2$
111:130,14['  ]| Sacrament was no$2$ Sacrament to$4$ him.
111:130,15['  ]| He had his own Lord.  And when he could get into communication or
111:130,16['  ]| communion, with his own Lord, he always felt well and right again.
111:130,17['  ]| Now, in$4$ his pain and battered fever, he was fighting for$4$ his Lord again.
111:130,18[A  ]| "Lord, I do not love Easu, and I will$1$ kill him if you want me to$9$.  But if you do not
111:130,19[A  ]| want me to$9$, I will$1$ not.  I will$1$ not.  I will$1$ not bother any more."
111:130,20['  ]| This pledge and this submission, soothed him strangely.  He felt 
111:130,20@a   | he was
111:130,21@a   | coming back to$4$ his own Lord.  It was a pledge, and he would keep it.  He gave
111:130,22@a   | no$2$ pledge to$9$ love Easu.  Only not to$9$ kill him, if the Lord did not want it; and to$9$
111:130,23@a   | kill him, if the Lord did.
111:130,24[A  ]| "Lord, I do not love Monica.  I do not love her.  But if she would give up$5$ to$4$ me, I would
111:130,25[A  ]| love her if you wanted me to$9$."
111:130,26['  ]| He thought about this.  
111:130,26@a   | Somewhere, his soul burned against Monica.  And,
111:130,27@a   | somewhere, his soul burned for$4$ her.
111:130,28@a   | But she must give up$5$ to$4$ him.  She must give herself up$5$.  He demanded this
111:130,29@a   | submission, as if it were a submission to$4$ his mysterious Lord.  She would
111:130,30@a   | never submit to$4$ the mysterious Lord direct.  Like$4$ that$6#2$ old demon of a Gran,
111:130,31@a   | who$6#1$ knew the Lord, and played with Him, spited Him even.  Monica would
111:130,32@a   | have first to$9$ submit to$4$ himself, Jack, in$4$ person, before she would really yield
111:130,33@a   | before the immense Lord.  And yield before the immense Lord she must.
111:130,34@a   | Through him.
111:130,35[A  ]| "Lord!"  
111:130,35['  ]| he said, invoking the supreme power; 
111:130,35[A  ]| "I love Lennie and Tom,
111:130,36[A  ]| and I want always to$9$ love them, and I want you to$9$ back them."
111:130,37['  ]| Then the prickles of pain entered his soul again.
111:130,38[A  ]| "Lord, I do not love my father, but I do not want to$9$ hurt him.  Only, I do not
111:130,39[A  ]| love him, Lord.  And it is not my fault, though he is a good man, because I
111:130,40[A  ]| was not born with love for$4$ him in$4$ me."
111:130,41['  ]| This had been a thorn in$4$ his consciousness since he was a child.  
111:130,41@a   | Best get it
111:130,42@a   | out now.  Because the fear of \not\ loving his father had almost made him hate
111:130,43@a   | him.  If he ought to$9$ love him, because of the hopeless obligation.  But if he
111:130,44@a   | \need not\ love him, then he need not hate him, and they could both be in$4$ peace.
111:131,01@a   | He would leave it to$4$ his Lord.
111:131,02[A  ]| "Perhaps I ought to$9$ love Mary," 
111:131,02['  ]| he continued.  
111:131,02[A  ]| "But I do not \really\ love her,
111:131,03[A  ]| because she does not realise about the Lord.  She does not realise there is any
111:131,04[A  ]| Lord.  She thinks there is only me, and herself.  But there is the Lord.  And
111:131,05[A  ]| Monica knows.  But Monica is spiteful against the Lord.  Lord!  Lord!
111:131,06['  ]| He ended on$4$ the old human cry of invocation:  a cry which$6#1$ is answered,
111:131,07['  ]| when it comes from the extreme, passionate soul.  The strange, dark comfort
111:131,08['  ]| and power came back to$4$ him again, and he could go to$4$ sleep once more, with
111:131,09['  ]| his Lord.
111:131,10['  ]| When he woke in$4$ the morning, the fever had left him.  Lennie was there at
111:131,11['  ]| dawn, to$9$ see if he wanted anything.  The quick little Lennie, who$6#1$ always came
111:131,12['  ]| straight from the Lord, unless his emotions of pity got the better of him.
111:131,13['  ]| Then he lost his connections, and became maudlin.
111:131,14['  ]| Jack wanted the family not to$9$ know.  But the twins saw his disfigured face,
111:131,15['  ]| with horror.  And Monica knew:  it was she who$6#1$ had sent Dr%*Rackett and
111:131,16['  ]| Tom and Alec.  And Grace knew.  And soon Ma came, and said:  
111:131,16[I  ]| "Dear o' me,
111:131,17[I  ]| Jack*Grant, what do you mean by$4$ going and getting messed up$5$ like$4$ this!"  
111:131,17['  ]| And
111:131,18['  ]| Dad came slow and heavy, and said nothing, but looked dark and angry.
111:131,19['  ]| They all knew.
111:131,20['  ]| But Jack wanted to$9$ be left alone.  He told Tom and Dr*Rackett, and Tom
111:131,21['  ]| and Dr*Rackett ordered the family to$9$ leave him alone.
111:131,22['  ]| It was Grace who$6#1$ brought his meals.  
111:131,22@a   | Poor old Grace, with her big eyes and
111:131,23@a   | rather big nose, she had a gentle heart, and more real sense than that$6#2$
111:131,24@a   | Monica.  
111:131,24['  ]| Jack only got to$9$ know her while he was sick, and she really touched
111:131,25['  ]| his heart.  
111:131,25@a   | She was so$5#1$ kind, and thought so$5#1$ little of herself, and had such a sad
111:131,26@a   | wisdom at the bottom of her.  Who$6#2$ would have thought it, of the pert, cheeky,
111:131,27@a   | nosy Grace?
111:131,28['  ]| Monica slipped in$5$, and stood staring down at him with her queer, brooding
111:131,29['  ]| eyes, that$6#1$ shone with widened pupils.  
111:131,29@a   | Heaven knows what she was
111:131,30@a   | thinking about.
111:131,31[D  ]| "I was awfully afraid he would kill you," 
111:131,31['  ]| she said.  
111:131,31[D  ]| "I was so$5#1$ frightened, that$6#2$ is
111:131,32[D  ]| what made me laugh."
111:131,33[A  ]| "Why should I let him kill me?"  
111:131,33['  ]| said Jack.
111:131,34[D  ]| "How could you help it?  He is much stronger and crueler than you."
111:131,35[A  ]| "He may be stronger, but I can match him in$4$ other ways."
111:131,36['  ]| She looked at him incredulously.  
111:131,36@a   | She did not believe him.  He could see she
111:131,37@a   | did not believe in$4$ that$6#2$ other, inward power of his, upon$4$ which$6#1$ he himself
111:131,38@a   | depended.  She thought him in$4$ every way weaker, frailer than Easu.  Only, of
111:131,39@a   | course, nicer.  
111:131,39['  ]| This made Jack very angry.
111:131,40[A  ]| "I think I punished him as much as he punished me," 
111:131,40['  ]| he said.
111:131,41[D  ]| "\He is\ not laid up$5$ in$4$ bed," 
111:131,41['  ]| she replied.
111:131,42['  ]| Then, with her quivering, exquisite gentleness, she touched his bandaged
111:131,43['  ]| hand.
111:131,44[D  ]| "I am awfully sorry he hurt you so$5#2$," 
111:131,44['  ]| she said.  
111:131,44[D  ]| "I know you will$1$ hate \me\ for$4$ it."
111:131,45[A  ]| "Why should I?"  
111:131,45['  ]| he replied coldly.
111:132,01['  ]| She took up$5$ his bandaged hand and kissed it quickly, then she looked him
111:132,02['  ]| long and beseechingly in$4$ the eyes:  or the one eye.  
111:132,02@a   | Somehow she did not seem
111:132,03@a   | to$9$ see his caricature of a face.
111:132,04[D  ]| "Do not hate me for$4$ it," 
111:132,04['  ]| she pleaded, still watching him with that$6#2$ strange,
111:132,05['  ]| pleading, watchful look.
111:132,06['  ]| The flame leapt in$4$ his bowels, and came into his eyes.  And another flame
111:132,07['  ]| as she, catchig the change in$4$ his eyes, softened her look and smiled subtly,
111:132,08['  ]| suddenly taking his wrist in$4$ a passionate, secret grasp.  He felt the hot blood
111:132,09['  ]| suffusing him like$4$ new life.
111:132,10[D  ]| "Good-bye!"  
111:132,10['  ]| she said, looking back at him as she disappeared.
111:132,11['  ]| And when she had gone, he remembered the watchfulness in$4$ her eyes, the
111:132,12['  ]| cat-like watchfulness at the back of all her winsome tenderness.  
111:132,12@a   | There it was,
111:132,13@a   | like$4$ the devil.  
111:132,13['  ]| And he turned his face to$4$ the wall, to$4$ his Lord, and two
111:132,14['  ]| smarting tears came under his eyes as if they were acid.
111:132,15['  ]| The next day Mary came bringing his pap.  She was not going to$9$ be kept
111:132,16['  ]| away any longer.  And she would come as a ministering angel.
111:132,17['  ]| He saw on$4$ her face that$3$ she was startled, shocked, and a little repelled by$4$
111:132,18['  ]| his appearance.  She hardly knew him.  But she overcame her repulsion at
111:132,19['  ]| once, and became the more protective.
111:132,20[B  ]| "Why, how awful it must be for$4$ you!"  
111:132,20['  ]| she said.
111:132,21[A  ]| "Not so$5#1$ bad now," 
111:132,21['  ]| he said, manfully swallowing his pap.
111:132,22['  ]| He could see 
111:132,22@a   | she longed for$4$ him to$9$ have his own good-looking face again.
111:132,23@a   | She could not bear this strange horror.  She refused to$9$ believe this was he.
111:132,24[B  ]| "I shall never forgive that$6#2$ cruel Easu!"  
111:132,24['  ]| she said, and the colour came to$4$ her
111:132,25['  ]| dark cheek.  
111:132,25[B  ]| "I hope I never have to$9$ speak to$4$ him again."
111:132,26[A  ]| "Oh, I began it.  It was my fault."
111:132,27[B  ]| "How could it be?"  
111:132,27['  ]| cried Mary.  
111:132,27[B  ]| "That$6#2$ great hulking brute.  How dare he lay
111:132,28[B  ]| a finger on$4$ you!"
111:132,29[A  ]| "He dare, you see," 
111:132,29['  ]| he answered.
111:132,30['  ]| But she turned away in$4$ smarting indignation.
111:132,31[B  ]| "It makes one understand why such creatures had their hands cut off, in$4$
111:132,32[B  ]| the old days," 
111:132,32['  ]| she said, with cold fierceness.
111:132,33[B  ]| "How dare he disfigure your beautiful face?  How dare he?"
111:132,34['  ]| And tears of anger came to$4$ her eyes.
111:132,35['  ]| A strangled grin caused considerable pain to$4$ Jack's beautiful face.
111:132,36[A  ]| "I suppose he did not rightly appreciate my sort of looks," 
111:132,36['  ]| he said.
111:132,37[B  ]| "The jealous brute," 
111:132,37['  ]| said Mary.  
111:132,37[B  ]| "But I hope he will$1$ pay for$4$ it.  I hope he will$1$.  I
111:132,38[B  ]| do hope he has not really disfigured you,"  
111:132,38['  ]| she ended on$4$ a note of agitation.
111:132,39[A  ]| "No$7$, no$7$!  Besides \that$6#2$\ does not matter all the world."
111:132,40[B  ]| "It matters all the world," 
111:132,40['  ]| she cried, with strange fierceness, 
111:132,40[B  ]| "to$4$ me."
112:133,00[U  ]| <The Great Passing>
112:133,00[U  ]| <i>
112:133,01['  ]| Jack soon got better.  Soon he was sitting in$4$ the old armchair by$4$ the
112:133,02['  ]| parlour fire.  There was a little fire, against the damp.  This was Gran's
112:133,03['  ]| place.  But Gran did not leave her bed.
112:133,04['  ]| He had been in$5$ to$9$ see her, and she frightened him.  The grey, dusky skin
112:133,05['  ]| round the sunken mouth and sharpened nose, the eyes that$6#1$ were mostly
112:133,06['  ]| shut, and never really open, the harsh breathing, the hands lying like$4$ old
112:133,07['  ]| translucent stone on$4$ the bed-cover:  it frightened him, and gave him a horror
112:133,08['  ]| of dissolution and decay.  He wanted terribly to$9$ be out again with the healthy
112:133,09['  ]| Tom, among the horses.  But not yet ~~ he must wait yet awhile.  So$3$ he took his
112:133,10['  ]| turn sitting by$4$ Gran, to$9$ relieve Mary, who$6#1$ got little rest.  And he became
112:133,11['  ]| nervous, fainciful, frightened as he had never been before in$4$ his life.  The
112:133,12['  ]| family seemed to$9$ abandon him as they abandoned Gran.  The cold isolation
112:133,13['  ]| and horror of death.
112:133,14['  ]| The first rains had set in$5$.  All night the water had thundered down on$4$ the
112:133,15['  ]| slab roof of the cubby, as if the bottom had fallen out of some well above.
112:133,16['  ]| Outside was cloudy still, and a little chill.  A wind was hush-sh-shing round
112:133,17['  ]| the house.  Mary was sitting with Gran, and he was in$4$ the parlour, listening to$4$
112:133,18['  ]| that$6#2$ clock ~~ Tick-tock!  Tick-tock!  He sat in$4$ the armchair with a shawl over his
112:133,19['  ]| shoulders, trying to$9$ read.  Curiously enough, in$4$ Australia he could not read.
112:133,20['  ]| The words somehow meant nothing to$4$ him.
112:133,21['  ]| It was Sunday afternoon, and the smell of roast beef, Yorkshire pudding,
112:133,22['  ]| cabbage, apple pie and cinnamon custard still seemed to$9$ taint the house.  Jack
112:133,23['  ]| had come to$9$ loathe Sunday dinners.  They seemed to$4$ him degrading.  
112:133,23@a   | They
112:133,24@a   | hung so$5#1$ heavy afterwards.  And now he was sick, it seemed to$4$ him particularly
112:133,25@a   | repulsive.  The peculiar Sundayness of it.  The one thing that$6#1$ took him in$4$
112:133,26@a   | revulsion back to$4$ England:  Sunday dinner.  The England he did not want to$9$ be
112:133,27@a   | taken back to$4$.  But it had been a quiet meal.  
112:133,27['  ]| Monica and Grace, and the little
112:133,28['  ]| boy twins had all been invited to$4$ York, by$4$ Alec*Rice's parents, and they had
112:133,29['  ]| gone away from the shadowed house, leaving a great emptiness.  It seemed to$4$
112:133,30['  ]| Jack 
112:133,30@a   | they should all have stayed, so$3$ that$3$ their young life could have united
112:133,31@a   | against this slow dissolution.
112:133,32['  ]| Everything felt very strange.  Tom and Lennie were out.  Mrs*Ellis and the
112:133,33['  ]| children were upstairs, Mr*Ellis had gone to$9$ look at some sheep that$6#1$ had got
112:133,34['  ]| into trouble in$4$ the rain.  There seemed a darkness, a chill, a deathliness in$4$ the
112:133,35['  ]| air.  It is like$4$ that$6#2$ in$4$ Australia:  usually so$5#1$ sunny and absolutely forgetful.
112:133,36['  ]| Then comes a dark day, and the place seems like$4$ an immemorial grave.  More
112:133,37['  ]| gruesome than ever England was, on$4$ her dark days.  Mankind forever
112:134,01['  ]| entombed in$4$ dissolution, in$4$ an endless grave.
112:134,02@z   | Who$6#2$ shall ascend into the hill of the Lord; or who$6#2$ shall stand in$4$ His holy
112:134,03@z   | place?
112:134,04@z   | He that$6#1$ hath clean hands and a pure heart.
112:134,05@z   | Who$6#1$ hath not yielded up$5$ himself unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully.
112:134,06['  ]| Jack was thinking over the words Mr*Ellis had read in$4$ the morning, as near
112:134,07['  ]| as he remembered them.  He looked at his own hands:  already they seemed
112:134,08['  ]| pale and soft and very clean.  
112:134,08@a   | What had the Lord intended hands for$4$?  So$5#1$
112:134,09@a   | many things hands must do, and still they remain clean.  Clean hands!  His left
112:134,10@a   | was still discoloured and out of shape.  Was it unclean?
112:134,11@a   | No$7$, it was not unclean.  Not unclean like$4$ the great paw of Easu's hiking
112:134,12@a   | Monica out of the saddle.
112:134,13@a   | Clean hands and a pure heart!  A pure heart!  
112:134,13['  ]| Jack thought of his own, with
112:134,14['  ]| two heavy new desires in$4$ it:  the sudden, shattering desire for$4$ Monica, that$6#1$
112:134,15['  ]| would rip through him sometimes like$4$ a flame.  And the slow, smouldering
112:134,16['  ]| desire to$9$ kill Easu.  He had to$9$ be responsible for$4$ them both.
112:134,17['  ]| And he was not going to$9$ try to$9$ pluck them out.  They both belonged to$4$ his
112:134,18['  ]| heart, they were sacred even while they were shocking in$4$ his blood.  Only,
112:134,19['  ]| driven back on$4$ himself, he gave the old pledge:  
112:134,19@a   | \Lord, if you do not want me to$9$\
112:134,20@a   | \have Monica and kill Easu, I will$1$ not.  But if you want me to$9$, I will$1$\.  
112:134,20['  ]| Somewhere he was
112:134,21['  ]| inclined to$9$ cry out to$9$ be delivered from the cup.  
112:134,21@a   | But that$6#2$ would be cowardice
112:134,22@a   | towards his own blood.  It would be yielding himself up$5$ to$4$ vanity, if he
112:134,23@a   | pretended he had not got the desires.  And if he swore to$9$ eradicate them, it
112:134,24@a   | would be swearing deceitfully.  Sometimes the hands must move in$4$ the
112:134,25@a   | darkest acts, if they are to$9$ remain really clean, not deathly like$4$ Gran's now.
112:134,26@a   | And the heart must beat hard in$4$ the storm of darkest desires, if it is to$9$ keep
112:134,27@a   | pure, and not go pale-corrupt.
112:134,28@a   | But always subject to$4$ the will$0$ of the Lord.
112:134,29@z   | "Who$6#2$ shall ascend into the hill of the Lord; or who$6#2$ shall stand in$4$ His holy
112:134,30@z   | place."
112:134,31@a   | The Seraphim and the Cherubim knew strange, awful secrets of the Lord.
112:134,32@a   | That$6#2$ was why they covered their faces with their wings, for$3$ the wings of glory
112:134,33@a   | also had a dark side.
112:134,34['  ]| The fire was burning low.  Jack stooped to$9$ put on$5$ more wood.  Then he
112:134,35['  ]| blew the red coals to$9$ make the wood catch.  A yellow flame came, and he was
112:134,36['  ]| glad.
112:134,37@z   | "Forsake me not, Oh God, in$4$ mine old age; when I am grey-headed; until I
112:134,38@z   | have shown my strength to$4$ this generation, and Thy power to$4$ all them that$6#1$
112:134,39@z   | are yet to$9$ come."
112:134,40['  ]| Jack was always afraid of those times when the mysterious sayings of the
112:134,41['  ]| Bible invaded him.  He seemed to$9$ have no$2$ power against them.  And his soul
112:134,42['  ]| was always a little afraid, as if the walls of life grew thin, and he could hear the
112:134,43['  ]| great everlasting wind of the mysterious going of the Lord, on$4$ the other side.
112:134,44@z   | "Forsake me not, Oh God, in$4$ mine old age; when I am grey-headed."
112:134,45['  ]| Jack wished 
112:134,45@a   | Gran would say this, so$3$ that$3$ the Lord would stay with her, and
112:135,01@a   | she would not look so$5#1$ awful.  How could Mary \stand\ it, sitting with her day
112:135,02@a   | after day.
112:135,03@z   | "Until I have shown my strength to$4$ this generation, and Thy power to$4$ all
112:135,04@z   | them that$6#1$ are yet to$9$ come."
112:135,05['  ]| And again his stubborn strength of life arose.  
112:135,05@a   | What was he for$4$, but to$9$ show
112:135,06@a   | his strength to$4$ the generation, and a sign of the power of the Lord for$4$ all
112:135,07@a   | them that$6#1$ were yet to$9$ come.
112:135,08['  ]| The clock was ticking steadily in$4$ the room.  But the yellow flames were
112:135,09['  ]| bunching up$5$ in$4$ the grate.  He wondered where Gran's "stocking" really was?
112:135,10['  ]| But the thought of stockings, of concealed money, of people hankering for$4$
112:135,11['  ]| money, always made him feel sick.
112:135,12@z   | "There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon, and
112:135,13@z   | another glory of the stars ~~ There is a natural body and a spiritual
112:135,14@z   | body ~~ "
112:135,15@z   | "There is one glory of the sun."  
112:135,15['  ]| But men do not all realise the same glory.  In$4$
112:135,16['  ]| England the sun had seemed to$4$ him to$9$ move with a domestic familiarity.  It
112:135,17['  ]| was not till he was out here that$3$ he had been struck to$4$ the soul with the
112:135,18['  ]| immense assertive vigour and sacred handsomeness of the sun.  He knew it
112:135,19['  ]| now:  the wild, immense, fierce, untamed sun, fiercer than a glowing-eyed
112:135,20['  ]| lion with a vast mane of fire, crouching on$4$ the western horizon, staring at the
112:135,21['  ]| earth as if to$9$ pounce on$4$ it, the mouse-like earth.  He had seen this immense
112:135,22['  ]| sun, fierce and powerful beyond all human consideration, glaring across
112:135,23['  ]| the southern sea, as all men may see it if they go there.
112:135,24@z   | "There is one glory of the sun."  
112:135,24@a   | And it is a glory vast and fierce, of a Lord
112:135,25@a   | who$6#1$ is more than our small lives.
112:135,26@z   | "And another glory of the moon."  
112:135,26['  ]| That$6#2$ too he knew.  And he had not
112:135,27['  ]| known, till the full moon had followed him through the empty bush, in$4$
112:135,28['  ]| Australia, in$4$ the night.  The immense liquid gleam of the far-south moon,
112:135,29['  ]| following, following with a great, miraculous, liquid smile.  That$6#2$ vast white,
112:135,30['  ]| liquid smile, so$5#1$ vindictive!  And himself, hurrying back to$9$ camp on$4$ Lucy, had
112:135,31['  ]| known a terrible fear.  The fear that$3$ the broad liquid fire of the cold moon
112:135,32['  ]| would capture him, capture him and destroy him, like$4$ some white demon
112:135,33['  ]| that$6#1$ slowly and coldly tastes and devours its prey.  The moon had that$6#2$ power,
112:135,34['  ]| he knew, to$9$ dissolve him, tissue, heart, body and soul, dissolve him away.  The
112:135,35['  ]| immense, gleaming, liquid, lusting white moon, following him inexorably,
112:135,36['  ]| and the bush like$4$ white charred moon-embers.
112:135,37@z   | "There is another glory of the moon."  
112:135,37['  ]| And he was afraid of it.  
112:135,37@z   | "The sun is
112:135,38@z   | thy right hand, and the moon is thy left hand."  
112:135,38['  ]| The two gleaming, immense
112:135,39['  ]| living orbs, moving like$4$ weapons in$4$ the two hands of the Lord.
112:135,40@z   | "And there is another glory of the stars." 
112:135,40['  ]| The strange stars of the southern
112:135,41['  ]| night, all in$4$ unfamiliar crowds and tufts and drooping clusters, with strange
112:135,42['  ]| black wells in$4$ the sky.  He never got used to$4$ the southern stars.  Whenever he
112:135,43['  ]| stood and looked up$5$ at them he felt as if his soul were leaving him, as if he
112:135,44['  ]| belonged to$4$ another species of life, not to$4$ man as he knew man.  As if there
112:135,45['  ]| were a metamorphosis, a terrible metamorphosis to$9$ take place.
112:136,01@z   | "There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body."  
112:136,01['  ]| This phrase had
112:136,02['  ]| haunted his mind from the earliest days.  And he had always had a sort of
112:136,03['  ]| hatred of the thing his aunts, and the parson, and the poets, called The Spirit,
112:136,04['  ]| with a capital S.  It had always, with him, been connected with his
112:136,05['  ]| Sunday clothes, and best behaviour, and a certain exalted falseness.  Part of
112:136,06['  ]| his natural naughtiness had arisen from his vindictive dislike and contempt
112:136,07['  ]| of The Spirit, and things of The Spirit.
112:136,08['  ]| Now it began to$9$ seem different to$4$ him.  He knew, he always had known,
112:136,09['  ]| that$3$ the Bible really meant something absolutely different from what the
112:136,10['  ]| aunts and the parson and even the poets meant by$4$ the Spirit, or the spiritual
112:136,11['  ]| body.
112:136,12['  ]| Since he had seen the Great God in$4$ the roaring of the yellow sun, and the
112:136,13['  ]| frightening vast smile in$4$ the gleaming full-moon following him, the new
112:136,14['  ]| moon like$4$ a delicate weapon-threat in$4$ the western sky, and the stars in$4$
112:136,15['  ]| disarray, like$4$ a scattered flock of sheep bunching and communing together
112:136,16['  ]| in$4$ a strange bush, in$4$ the vast heavens, he had gradually come to$9$ know the
112:136,17['  ]| difference between the natural body and the spiritual body.  The natural
112:136,18['  ]| body was like$4$ in$4$ England, where the sun rises naturally to$9$ make day, and
112:136,19['  ]| passes naturally at sunset, owing to$4$ the earth's revolving; where the moon
112:136,20['  ]| "raises her lamp above," on$4$ a clear night, and the stars are "candles" in$4$
112:136,21['  ]| heaven.  That$6#2$ is the natural body:  all the cosmos just a natural fact.  And a
112:136,22['  ]| man loves a woman so$3$ that$3$ they can propagate their species.  The natural
112:136,23['  ]| body.
112:136,24['  ]| And the spiritual body is supposed to$9$ be something thin and immaterial,
112:136,25['  ]| that$6#1$ can float through a brick wall and subsist on$4$ mere thought.  Jack had
112:136,26['  ]| always hated this thin, wafting object.  He preferred his body solid.  He loved
112:136,27['  ]| the beautiful weight and transfigured solidity of living limbs.  He had no$2$ use
112:136,28['  ]| whatsoever for$4$ the gossamer stuff of the supposed "ethereal," or "pure"
112:136,29['  ]| spirit:  like$4$ evaporated alcohol.  He had a natural dislike of Shelley and
112:136,30['  ]| vegetarians and socialists and all advocates of "spirit."  He hated Blake's
112:136,31['  ]| pictures, with people waving like$4$ the wrong kind of sea-weed, in$4$ the sky,
112:136,32['  ]| instead of underwater.
112:136,33['  ]| Hated it all.  Till hating it had almost made him wicked.
112:136,34['  ]| Now he had a new understanding.  He had always \known\ that$3$ the Old*Testament
112:136,35['  ]| never meant any of this Shelley stuff, this Hindu Nirvana business.
112:136,36@z   | "There is a natural body and there is a spiritual body."  
112:136,36['  ]| And his natural
112:136,37['  ]| body got up$5$ in$4$ the morning to$9$ eat food and tend sheep and earn money and
112:136,38['  ]| prepare for$4$ having a family; to$9$ see the sun usefully making day and setting
112:136,39['  ]| owing to$4$ the earth's revolution:  the new moon so$5#1$ shapen because the earth's
112:136,40['  ]| shadow fell on$4$ her; the stars being other worlds, other lumps in$4$ space,
112:136,41['  ]| shining according to$4$ their various distances, coloured according to$4$ their
112:136,42['  ]| chemical composition.  Well and good.
112:136,43['  ]| That$6#2$ is man very cleverly finding out all about it, like$4$ a little boy pulling his
112:136,44['  ]| toy to$4$ pieces.
112:136,45['  ]| But, willy-nilly, in$4$ this country he had another sun and another moon.
112:137,01['  ]| He had seen the glory of the sun and the glory of the moon, and both these
112:137,02['  ]| glories had had a powerful sensual effect on$4$ him.  There had been a great
112:137,03['  ]| passional reaction in$4$ himself, in$4$ his own body.  And as the strange new
112:137,04['  ]| passion of fear and the sense of gloriousness burned through him, like$4$ a new
112:137,05['  ]| intoxication, he knew that$3$ this was his real spiritual body.  This glowing,
112:137,06['  ]| intoxicated body, drunk with the sun and the moon, drunk from the cup in$4$
112:137,07['  ]| the hand of the Lord, \this\ was his spiritual body.
112:137,08['  ]| And when the flame came up$5$ in$4$ him, tearing from his bowels, in$4$ the
112:137,09['  ]| sudden new desire for$4$ Monica, this was his spiritual body, the body transfigured
112:137,10['  ]| with fire.  And that$6#2$ steady dark vibration which$6#1$ made him want to$9$ kill
112:137,11['  ]| Easu ~~ Easu seemed to$4$ him, like$4$ the Antichrist ~~ that$6#1$ was his own spiritual
112:137,12['  ]| body.  And when he had hit Easu with his broken left hand, and the white
112:137,13['  ]| sheet of flame going through him had made him scream aloud, leaving him
112:137,14['  ]| strange and distant but super-conscious and powerful, this, too, was his
112:137,15['  ]| spiritual body.  The sun in$4$ his right hand and the moon in$4$ his left hand.
112:137,16['  ]| When he drank from the burning right hand of the Lord, and wanted
112:137,17['  ]| Monica in$4$ the same fire, it was his body spiritual burning from the right hand
112:137,18['  ]| of the Lord.  And when he knew he must destroy Easu, in$4$ the sheet of white
112:137,19['  ]| pain, it was his body spiritual transfigured from the left hand of the Lord.
112:137,20['  ]| And when he ate and drank and the food tasted good, it was the dark cup of
112:137,21['  ]| life he was drinking, drinking the life of the dead ox from the meat.  And this
112:137,22['  ]| was the body spiritual communing with the sacrificed body of natural life:
112:137,23['  ]| like$4$ a tiger glowing at evening and lapping blood.  And when he rode after
112:137,24['  ]| the sheep through the bush, and the horse between his knees went quick and
112:137,25['  ]| delicate, it was the Lord tossing him in$4$ his spiritual body down the maze of
112:137,26['  ]| living.
112:137,27['  ]| But when Easu ground down his horse and shoved it after the sheep, it was
112:137,28['  ]| the natural body fiendishly subjugating the spiritual body.  For$3$ the horse,
112:137,29['  ]| too, is a spiritual body and a natural body, and may be ridden as the one or as
112:137,30['  ]| the other.  And when Easu wanted Monica, it was the natural body malignantly
112:137,31['  ]| degrading the spiritual body.  Monica also half wanted it.
112:137,32['  ]| For$3$ Easu knew the spiritual body.  And like$4$ a fallen angel he hated it, he
112:137,33['  ]| wanted always to$9$ overthrow it more, in$4$ this day when it is so$5#1$ abjectly
112:137,34['  ]| overthrown.  Monica, too, knew the spiritual body:  the body of straight fire.
112:137,35['  ]| And she, too, seemed to$9$ have a grudge against it.  It thwarted her "natural"
112:137,36['  ]| will$0$:  which$6#1$ "natural" will$0$ is the barren devil of to-day.
112:137,37['  ]| Gran, that$6#2$ old witch, she also knew the spiritual body.  But she loved spiting
112:137,38['  ]| it.  And she was dying like$4$ clay.
112:137,39['  ]| Mary, who$6#1$ was so$5#1$ spiritual and so$5#1$ self-sacrificing, she did not know the body
112:137,40['  ]| of straight fire at all.  Her spirit was all natural.  She was so$5#1$ "good," and so$5#1$
112:137,41['  ]| heavily "natural," she would put out any fire of the glory of the burning
112:137,42['  ]| Lord.  She was more "natural" even than Easu.
112:137,43['  ]| And Jack's father was the same.  So$5#1$ good!  So$5#1$ nice!  So$5#1$ kind!  So$5#1$ absolutely
112:137,44['  ]| well-meaning!  And he would bank out the fire of the burning Lord with
112:137,45['  ]| shovelfuls of kindness.
112:138,01['  ]| They would none of them, none of them let the fire burn straight.  None of
112:138,02['  ]| them.  There were no$2$ people at all who$6#1$ dared have the fire of the Lord, and
112:138,03['  ]| drink from the cup of the fierce glory of the Lord, the sun in$4$ one hand and
112:138,04['  ]| the moon in$4$ the other.
112:138,05['  ]| Only this strange, wild, ash-coloured country with its undiminished sun
112:138,06['  ]| and its unblemished moon, would allow it.  There was a great death between
112:138,07['  ]| the two hands of the Lord; between the sun and the moon.  But let there be a
112:138,08['  ]| great death.  Jack gave himself to$4$ it.
112:138,09['  ]| He was almost asleep, in$4$ the half-trance of inner consciousness, when Dad
112:138,10['  ]| came in$5$.  Jack opened his eyes and made to$9$ rise, but Dad waved him to$9$ sit still,
112:138,11['  ]| while he took the chair on$4$ the other side of the fire, and sat down inert.  
112:138,11@a   | He
112:138,12@a   | seemed queer.  Dad seemed queer.  The same dusky look over his face as over
112:138,13@a   | Gran's.  And a queer, pinched, far-away look.  
112:138,13['  ]| Jack wondered over it.  And he
112:138,14['  ]| could see
112:138,14@a   | Dad did not want to$9$ be spoken to$5$.  
112:138,14['  ]| The clock tick-tocked.  Jack went
112:138,15['  ]| into a kind of sleep.
112:138,16['  ]| He opened his eyes.  
112:138,16@a   | Dad was very slowly, very slowly fingering the bowl of
112:138,17@a   | his pipe.  How quiet it was!
112:138,18['  ]| Jack dozed again, and wakened to$4$ a queer noise.  It was Dad's breathing:
112:138,19['  ]| and perhaps the falling of his pipe.  He had dropped his pipe.  And his body
112:138,20['  ]| had dropped over sideways, very heavy and uncomfortable, and he was
112:138,21['  ]| breathing hoarsely, unnaturally in$4$ his sleep.  Save for$4$ the breathing it was
112:138,22['  ]| dreadfully quiet.  Jack picked up$5$ the pipe and sat down again.  He felt tired:
112:138,23['  ]| awfully tired, for$4$ no$2$ reason at all.
112:138,24['  ]| He woke with a start.  The afternoon was passing, there was a shower, the
112:138,25['  ]| room seemed dark.  The firelight flickered on$4$ Mr*Ellis' watchguard.  He wore
112:138,26['  ]| his unbuttoned waistcoat as ever, with the gold watch-chain showing.  He was
112:138,27['  ]| very stout, and very still.  Terribly still and sagging sideways, the horase
112:138,28['  ]| breathing had ceased.  Jack would have liked to$9$ wake him from that$6#2$ queer
112:138,29['  ]| position.
112:138,30['  ]| How quiet it was!  Upstairs someone had dragged a chair and that$6#2$ had
112:138,31['  ]| made him realise.  Far away, very far away, he could hear Harry and Ellie and
112:138,32['  ]| baby, playing.  
112:138,32@z   | "There is a quiet of the sun and another quiet of the moon, and
112:138,33@z   | another quiet of the stars; for$3$ one star differs from another in$4$ quiet.  So$3$ also is
112:138,34@z   | the resurrection of the dead.  It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual
112:138,35@z   | body."
112:138,36@a   | Was that$6#2$ Scripture?  Or was not it?  There is a quiet of the sun.  This was the
112:138,37@a   | quiet of the sun.  He was sitting in$4$ the cold dead quiet of the sun.  For$3$ one star
112:138,38@a   | differs from another in$4$ quiet.  The sun had abstained from radiating, this
112:138,39@a   | was the quiet of the sun, and the strange, shadowy crowding of the stars'
112:138,40@a   | differing quietness seemed to$9$ infest the weak daylight.
112:138,41@a   | It is sown a natural body!  Oh, bother the words!  He did not want them.  He
112:138,42@a   | wanted the sun to$9$ shine, and everything to$9$ be normal.  If he did not feel so$5#1$
112:138,43@a   | weak, and if it were not raining, he would go out to$4$ the stable to$4$ the horses.  To$4$ the
112:138,44@a   | hot-blooded animals.
112:138,45['  ]| Mr*Ellis' head hung sagging on$4$ his chest.  Jack wished he would wake up$5$
112:139,01['  ]| and change his position, it looked horrible.
112:139,02['  ]| The inner door suddenly opened, and Mary came swiftly out.  She started
112:139,03['  ]| seeing Mr*Ellis asleep in$4$ the chair.  Then she went to$4$ Jack's side and took his
112:139,04['  ]| arm, and leaned whispering in$4$ his ear.
112:139,05[B  ]| "Jack!  She has gone!  I think she has gone.  I think she passed in$4$ her sleep.  We
112:139,06[B  ]| shall have to$9$ wake uncle."
112:139,07['  ]| Jack stood up$5$ trembling.  There was a queer smell in$4$ the room.  He walked
112:139,08['  ]| across and touched the sleeping man on$4$ the sleeve.
112:139,09[A  ]| "Dad!"  
112:139,09['  ]| he said.  
112:139,09[A  ]| "Dad!  Mr*Ellis."
112:139,10['  ]| There was no$2$ response.  They both waited.  Then Jack shook the arm more
112:139,11['  ]| vigorously.  It felt very inert.  Mary came across and put her hand on$4$ her
112:139,12['  ]| uncle's sunken forehead, to$9$ lift his head.  She gave a little scream.
112:139,13[B  ]| "Something is the matter with him," 
112:139,13['  ]| she said, whimpering.
112:139,00[U  ]| <ii>
112:139,14['  ]| Thank goodness, Dr*Rackett was upstairs.  They fetched him and Timothy
112:139,15['  ]| and Tom, and carried Mr*Ellis into the dying*room.
112:139,16[Q  ]| "Better leave me alone with him now," 
112:139,16['  ]| said Rackett.
112:139,17['  ]| After ten minutes he came out of the dying*room and closed the door
112:139,18['  ]| behind him.  Tom was standing there.  He looked at Rackett enquiringly.
112:139,19['  ]| Rackett shook his head.
112:139,20[H  ]| "Dad is not dead?"  
112:139,20['  ]| said Tom.
112:139,21['  ]| Rackett nodded.
112:139,22['  ]| Tom's face went to$4$ pieces for$4$ a moment.  Then he composed it, and that$6#2$
112:139,23['  ]| Australian mouth of his, almost like$4$ a scar, shut close.  He went into the dying*room.
112:139,24['  ]|
112:139,25['  ]| Someone had to$9$ fetch the Methodist son-in-law from York.  Jack went in$4$
112:139,26['  ]| the sulky.  
112:139,26@a   | Better die in$4$ the cart than stop in$4$ that$6#2$ house.  And he could drive
112:139,27@a   | the sulky quietly.
112:139,28['  ]| The Methodist son-in-law, though he was stout and wore black and Jack
112:139,29['  ]| objected to$4$ him on$4$ principle, was not really so$5#1$ bad, in$4$ his own home.  His wife
112:139,30['  ]| Ruth, of course, burst into tears and ran upstairs.  Her husband kept his face
112:139,31['  ]| straight, brought out the whiskey tantalus, and poured some for$4$ Jack and
112:139,32['  ]| himself.  This they both drank with befitting gravity.
112:139,33[W  ]| "I must be in$4$ chapel in$4$ fifteen minutes; that$6#2$ will$1$ be five minutes late," 
112:139,33['  ]| said
112:139,34['  ]| the parson.  
112:139,34[W  ]| "But they can not complain, under the circumstances.  Mrs*Blogg,
112:139,35[W  ]| of course, will$1$ stay at home.  Er ~~ is anyone making arrangements out at
112:139,36[W  ]| Wandoo?"
112:139,37[A  ]| "What arrangements?"
112:139,38[W  ]| "Oh, seeing to$4$ things ~~ the personal property, too."
112:139,39[A  ]| "I was sent for$4$ you," 
112:139,39['  ]| said Jack.  
112:139,39[A  ]| "I suppose they thought you would see to$4$
112:139,40[A  ]| things."
112:139,41[W  ]| "Yes!  Certainly!  Certainly!  I will$1$ be out with Mrs*Blogg directly after Meeting.
112:140,01[W  ]| Let me see."
112:140,02['  ]| He went to$4$ a table and laboriously wrote two notes.  Twisting them into
112:140,03['  ]| cocked hats, he handed them one after the other to$4$ Jack saying:
112:140,04[W  ]| "This is to$4$ the Church*of*England parson.  Leave it at his house.  I have made
112:140,05[W  ]| it Toosday.  Toosday at half-past ten.  I suppose that$6#2$ will$1$ do.  And this ~~ this is to$4$
112:140,06[W  ]| the joiner."
112:140,07['  ]| He looked at Jack meaningly, and Jack looked vague.
112:140,08[W  ]| "Joshua*Jenkins, at the joiner's shop.  Third house from the end of the
112:140,09[W  ]| road.  And you will$1$ find him in$4$ the loft over the stable, Sunday or not, if he is not
112:140,10[W  ]| in$4$ the house."
112:140,11['  ]| It was sunset and the single bells of the church and chapel were sounding
112:140,12['  ]| their last ping!  ping!  ping-ping!  as Jack drove slowly down the straggling
112:140,13['  ]| street of York.  People were going to$4$ church, the women in$4$ their best shawls
112:140,14['  ]| and bonnets, hurrying a little along the muddy road, where already the cows
112:140,15['  ]| were lying down to$9$ sleep, and the loose horses straggled uncomfortably.
112:140,16['  ]| Occasionally a muddy buggy rattled up$5$ to$4$ the brick Church*of*England,
112:140,17['  ]| people passed shadow-shape into the wooden Presbyterian*Church, or
112:140,18['  ]| waited outside the slab Meeting*house of the Methodists.  The choir band
112:140,19['  ]| was already scraping fiddles and tooting cornets in$4$ the church.  Lamps were
112:140,20['  ]| lighted within, and one feeble lamp at the church gate.  It was a cloudy
112:140,21['  ]| evening.  Odd horsemen went trotting through the mud, going out into the
112:140,22['  ]| country again as night fell, rather forlorn.
112:140,23['  ]| Jack always felt queer in$4$ York on$4$ Sundays.  The attempt at Sunday seemed
112:140,24['  ]| to$4$ him like$4$ children's make*believe.  
112:140,24@a   | The churches were not real churches, the
112:140,25@a   | parsons were not real parsons, the people were not real worshippers.  It was a 
112:140,26@a   | sort of earnest make-belief, where people felt important like$4$ actors.  And the
112:140,27@a   | pub, with its extra number of lamps, seemed to$9$ feel extra wicked.  And the
112:140,28@a   | men riding home, often tipsy, seemed vague as to$4$ what was real, this York
112:140,29@a   | acting Sunday, or their dark, rather dreary farms away out, or some other
112:140,30@a   | third unknown thing.  Was anything quite real?  That$6#2$ was what the shadows,
112:140,31@a   | the people, the buildings seemed all to$9$ be asking.  It was like$4$ children's games,
112:140,32@a   | real and not real, actual and yet unsubstantial, and the people seemed to$9$ feel
112:140,33@a   | as children feel, very earnest, very sure that$3$ they were \very\ real, but having to$9$
112:140,34@a   | struggle all the time to$9$ keep up$5$ the conviction.  If they did not keep up$5$ the
112:140,35@a   | conviction, the dark, strange Australian night might clear them and their
112:140,36@a   | little town all away into some final cupboard, and leave the aboriginal bush
112:140,37@a   | again.
112:140,38['  ]| Joshua*Jenkins, the godless, was in$4$ the loft with a chisel, working by$4$
112:140,39['  ]| lantern light.  He peered at the twisted note, and his face brightened.
112:140,40[W  ]| "Two of them!"  
112:140,40['  ]| he exclaimed, with a certain gusto.  
112:140,40[W  ]| "Well, think of that$6#2$, think
112:140,41[W  ]| of that$6#2$!  And I have not had a job of this sort for$4$ over a month.  Well, I never, to$9$ be
112:140,42[W  ]| sure!  It never rains but it comes down cats and dogs seemingly.  Toosday!
112:140,43[W  ]| Toosday!  Toosday!  Let us see" ~~ 
112:140,43['  ]| and he scratched his head behind the ear.
112:140,44[W  ]| "Pretty quick work that$6#2$, pretty quick work.  But, can be done; oh, yes, can be
112:140,45[W  ]| done.  I shall have to$9$ send somebody to$9$ measure the Boss.  How deep should you
112:141,01[W  ]| say he was in$4$ the barrel?  Never mind, though, I will$1$ send Sam over with the
112:141,02[W  ]| measure, come morning.  But I can start right away on$4$ the old lady.  Let us see!
112:141,03[W  ]| Let us see!  she would not be-e-e ~~ she would not be over five foot two or three,
112:141,04[W  ]| now, would she?"
112:141,05[A  ]| "I do not know," 
112:141,05['  ]| said Jack hoarsely.  
112:141,05[A  ]| "Do you mean for$4$ her coffin?"  
112:141,05['  ]| He was
112:141,06['  ]| filled with horror.
112:141,07[W  ]| "Well, I should say I do.  I should say so$5#2$.  You do not see no$2$ sewing-machines
112:141,08[W  ]| here, do you, for$4$ sewing her shroud.  I suppose I do mean her coffin, being
112:141,09[W  ]| joiner and carpenter, and J%*P%, and coroner as well, when required."
112:141,10['  ]| Jack fled, horrified.  But as he lit his sulky candles, and set off at a slow trot
112:141,11['  ]| out of the town, he laughed a bit to$4$ himself.  He felt it was rather funny.  
112:141,11@a   | Why
112:141,12@a   | should not it be rather funny?  He hoped it would be a bit funny when he was
112:141,13@a   | dead too, to$9$ relieve matters.  He sat in$4$ the easy sulky driving slowly down the
112:141,14@a   | washed-out road, in$4$ the dark, alien night.  The night was dark and strange.
112:141,15@a   | An animal ran along the road in$4$ front of him, just discernible, at the far edge
112:141,16@a   | of the dim yellow candle glow.  It was a wild grey thing, running ahead into
112:141,17@a   | the dark.  On$5$ into the dark.
112:141,18@a   | Why should one care?  Beyond a certain point, one did not care about
112:141,19@a   | anything, life or death.  One just felt it all.  Up$5$ to$4$ a certain point, one had to$9$ go
112:141,20@a   | through the mill, caring and feeling bad.  One had to$9$ cry out to$4$ the Lord, and
112:141,21@a   | fight the ugly brutes of life.  And then for$4$ a time it was over, and one did not
112:141,22@a   | care, good or bad, Lord or no$2$ Lord.  One paid one's whack of caring and then
112:141,23@a   | one was let off for$4$ a time.  When one was dead, one did not care any more.  And
112:141,24@a   | that$6#2$ was death.  But life too had its own indifference, its own deep, strong
112:141,25@a   | indifference:  as the ocean is calm way down, under the most violent storm.
112:141,26['  ]| When he got home, Tom came out to$4$ the sulky.  Tom's face was set with
112:141,27['  ]| that$6#2$ queer Australian look, as if he were caught in$4$ a trap, and it was not any
112:141,28['  ]| use complaining about it.  He unharnessed the horse in$4$ a rough, flinging
112:141,29['  ]| fashion.  Jack did not know what to$9$ say to$4$ him, so$3$ he thought he had better keep
112:141,30['  ]| quiet.
112:141,31['  ]| Lennie came riding in$5$ on$4$ Lucy.  He slid to$4$ the ground and dragged the
112:141,32['  ]| mare's bridle roughly.
112:141,33[J  ]| "Come on$5$, you blasted old idjut, can not you!"  
112:141,33['  ]| he blubbed, dragging her to$4$ the
112:141,34['  ]| stable door.  
112:141,34[J  ]| "Blasted idjut, my Uncle*Joe!"  
112:141,34['  ]| he continued, between the sniffs
112:141,35['  ]| and gulps of his blubbing.  
112:141,35[J  ]| "Questions!  Questions!  How can I answer questions
112:141,36[J  ]| when I do not know myself!"  
112:141,36['  ]| A loud blub as he dragged the saddle down
112:141,37['  ]| on$4$ top of himself, in$4$ his frenzy of untackling Lucy.  
112:141,37[J  ]| "Rackett says to$4$ me, 
112:141,37@q   | ""Len,""
112:141,38[J  ]| he says," 
112:141,38['  ]| blub and loud sniff ~~ 
112:141,38@q   | " ""your father is took bad and pore ol' Gran is
112:141,39@q   | gone,"" 
112:141,39[J  ]| he says" ~~ 
112:141,39['  ]| blub!  blub!  blub.  
112:141,39@q   | " ""Be off and fetch your Uncle*Joe and tell him
112:141,40@q   | to$9$ come at onst"" ~~ 
112:141,40[J  ]| and he can go to$4$ \hell\"  
112:141,40['  ]| Lennie ended on$4$ a shout of defiance
112:141,41['  ]| as he staggered into the stable with the saddle.  And from the dark his voice
112:141,42['  ]| came:  
112:141,42[J  ]| "And when I ask our Tom what is amiss with my Dad,"  
112:141,42['  ]| blub!  blub!
112:141,43[J  ]| "blasted idjut looks at me like$4$ a blasted owl ~~ like$4$ a blasted owl!"  
112:141,43['  ]| And Lennie
112:141,44['  ]| sobbed before he sniffed and came out for$4$ the bridle.
112:141,45[A  ]| "Do not you cry, Lennie," 
112:141,45['  ]| said Jack, who$6#1$ was himself crying for$4$ all he was
112:142,01['  ]| worth, under the cover of the dark.
112:142,02[J  ]| "I am not crying, you bloomin' fool, you!"  
112:142,02['  ]| shouted Len.  
112:142,02[J  ]| "I am goin' in$5$ to$9$ see
112:142,03[J  ]| Ma, I am.  Get some sense outta \her\."
112:142,04['  ]| He walked off towards the house, and then came back.
112:142,05[J  ]| "Why do not \you\ go in$5$, Tom, and see?"  
112:142,05['  ]| he cried.  
112:142,05[J  ]| "What do you stan' there like$4$
112:142,06[J  ]| that$6#2$ for$4$, what \do\ you?"
112:142,07['  ]| There was a dead and horrible silence, outside the stable door in$4$ the dark.
112:142,08['  ]| A silence that$6#1$ went to$4$ the core of the night, having no$2$ word to$9$ say.
112:142,09['  ]| The lights of a buggy were seen at the gate.  The three waited.  It was the
112:142,10['  ]| unmarried aunts.  One of them ran and took Len in$4$ her arms.
112:142,11[V  ]| "Oh, you poor little lamb!"  
112:142,11['  ]| she cried.  
112:142,11[V  ]| "Oh, your poor Ma!  Your Ma!  Your
112:142,12[V  ]| poor Ma!"
112:142,13[J  ]| "Ma is not bad!  She is all right," 
112:142,13['  ]| yelped Len in$4$ a new fear.  Then there was a
112:142,14['  ]| pause, and he became super-conscious.  Then he drew away from the aunts.
112:142,15[J  ]| "Is Dad dead?"  
112:142,15['  ]| he asked in$4$ a queer, quizzical little voice, looking from
112:142,16['  ]| Tom to Jack, in$4$ the dim buggy light.  Tom stood as if paralysed.
112:142,17['  ]| Lennie at last gave a queer, animal 
112:142,17[J  ]| "Whooo," 
112:142,17['  ]| like$4$ a dog dazed with pain,
112:142,18['  ]| and flung himself into Tom's arms.  The only sounds in$4$ the night were Tom's
112:142,19['  ]| short, dry sobs, as he held Lennie, and the whimpering of the aunts.
112:142,20[V  ]| "Come to$4$ your poor Mother, come to$9$ comfort her," 
112:142,20['  ]| said one of the aunts
112:142,21['  ]| gently.
112:142,22[J  ]| "Tom!  Tom!"  
112:142,22['  ]| cried Lennie.  
112:142,22[J  ]| "I am skeered!  I am skeered, Tom, of them two
112:142,23[J  ]| corpses!  I am skeered of them, Tom."  
112:142,23['  ]| Tom, who$6#1$ was a little skeered too, gave a
112:142,24['  ]| short, dry bark of a sob.
112:142,25[V  ]| "They will$1$ not hurt you, precious!"  
112:142,25['  ]| said the aunt.  
112:142,25[V  ]| "They will$1$ not hurt you.
112:142,26[V  ]| Come to$4$ your poor Mother."
112:142,27[J  ]| "No-o-o!"  
112:142,27['  ]| wailed Lennie in$4$ terror, and he flung away to$4$ Timothy's cabin,
112:142,28['  ]| where he slept all night.
112:142,29['  ]| When the horses were fixed up$5$, Tom and Jack went to$4$ the cubby.  Tom
112:142,30['  ]| flung himself on$4$ the bed without undressing, and lay there in$4$ silence.  Jack
112:142,31['  ]| did the same.  He did not know what else to$9$ do.  At last he managed to$9$ say:
112:142,32[A  ]| "Do not take it too hard, Tom! Dad has lived his life, and he has got all you
112:142,33[A  ]| children.  We have to$9$ live.  We all have to$9$ live.  And then we have got to$9$ die."
112:142,34['  ]| There was unresponsive silence for$4$ a time.
112:142,35[H  ]| "What is the blasted use of it all, anyhow?"  
112:142,35['  ]| said Tom.
112:142,36[A  ]| "There is no$2$ such thing as \use\," 
112:142,36['  ]| said Jack.  
112:142,36[A  ]| "Dad lived, and he had his life.
112:142,37[A  ]| He had his life.  You will$1$ have yours.  And I shall have mine.  It is just your life,
112:142,38[A  ]| and you live it."
112:142,39[H  ]| "What is the \good\ of it?"  
112:142,39['  ]| persisted Tom heavily.
112:142,40[A  ]| "Neither good nor bad.  You live your life because it is your own, and
112:142,41[A  ]| nobody can live it for$4$ you."
112:142,42[H  ]| "What good is it to$4$ me?"  
112:142,42['  ]| said Tom dully, drearily.  
112:142,42[H  ]| "I do not care if people
112:142,43[H  ]| live their lives or not."
112:142,44['  ]| Jack felt for$4$ the figure on$4$ the bed.
112:142,45[A  ]| "Shake hands though, Tom,"  
112:142,45['  ]| he said.  
112:142,45[A  ]| "You \are\ alive, and so$5#2$ am I.  Shake
112:143,01[A  ]| hands on$4$ it."
112:143,02['  ]| He found the hand and got a faint response, sulky, heavy.  But for$4$ very
112:143,03['  ]| shame Tom could not withhold all response.
112:143,04['  ]| Tim came in$4$ the morning with tea and bread and butter, saying 
112:143,04@w   | Tom was
112:143,05@w   | wanted inside, and would Jack go with him to$9$ attend to$4$ the grave.  
112:143,05['  ]| Poor Tim
112:143,06['  ]| was very much upset, and wept and wailed unrestrainedly.  Which$6#1$ perhaps
112:143,07['  ]| was good, because it spared the others the necessity to$9$ weep and wail.
112:143,08['  ]| They hitched up$5$ the old buggy, and set off with a pick and a couple of
112:143,09['  ]| spades.  Old black Timothy on$4$ the driving-box occasionally startled Jack by$4$
112:143,10['  ]| breaking forth into a new sudden wail, like$4$ a dog suddenly remembering
112:143,11['  ]| again.  It was a fine day.  The earth had already dried up$5$, and a hot, dry, gritty
112:143,12['  ]| wind was blowing from inland, from the east.  They drove out of the paddocks
112:143,13['  ]| and along an overgrown trail, then they crossed the river, heaving and
112:143,14['  ]| floundering through the slough, for$3$ at this season it was no$2$ more.  The
112:143,15['  ]| excitement of the driving here made Timothy forget to$9$ wail.
112:143,16['  ]| Rounding a steep little bluff, they came to$4$ a lonely, forlorn little enclosed
112:143,17['  ]| graveyard, which$6#1$ Jack had never seen.  Tim wailed, then asked where the
112:143,18['  ]| grave should be.  The sun grew very hot.  They nosed around the little, lonely,
112:143,19['  ]| parched acre.
112:143,20['  ]| Jack could not dig, so$3$ he unharnessed the outfit and put a box of chaff
112:143,21['  ]| before the horses.  Tim flung his spade over against a little grey headstone,
112:143,22['  ]| and climbed in$5$ with the pick.  Even then they were not quite sure how big to$9$
112:143,23['  ]| make the grave, so$3$ Jack lay on$4$ the ground while Tim picked out a line
112:143,24['  ]| around him.  They got a straight line with a rope.
112:143,25['  ]| The soil was as hard as cement.  Tim toiled and moiled, and forgot all
112:143,26['  ]| wailing.  But he made little impression on$4$ the cement-like earth.
112:143,27[W  ]| "What we goin' to$9$ do?"  
112:143,27['  ]| he asked, scratching his sweating head.  
112:143,27[W  ]| "What in$4$
112:143,28[W  ]| hell's name we goin' to$9$ do, sir?  Gotta bury him Toosday, gotta."  
112:143,28['  ]| And he looked
112:143,29['  ]| at the blazing sun.  
112:143,29[W  ]| "Gotta dig him hole sevenfut deep grave, gotta do it."
112:143,30['  ]| He set to$5$ again.  Then two of the Reds came, sent to$9$ help.  But the work was
112:143,31['  ]| killing.  The day became so$5#1$ hot, you forgot it, you passed into a kind of spell.
112:143,32['  ]| But that$6#2$ work was heart-breaking.
112:143,33['  ]| Jack went off for$4$ dynamite, and Rackett came along, with Lennie, who$6#1$
112:143,34['  ]| would never miss a dynamiting show.  Tim wrung his wet hair like$4$ a mop.
112:143,35['  ]| The Reds, in$4$ their vests, were scarlet, and the vests were wet and grimy.
112:143,36['  ]| Much more fun with dynamite.  Boom!  Bang!  Then somebody throwing
112:143,37['  ]| out the dirt.  Somebody going for$4$ a ladder.  Boom!  Bang!  The explosions
112:143,38['  ]| seemed enormous.
112:143,39[J  ]| "Oh, for$4$ the love of Mike!"  
112:143,39['  ]| cried the excited Lennie.  
112:143,39[J  ]| "You will$1$ blow me ol'
112:143,40[J  ]| grandfather sky high, if you do not mind.  For$4$ the love of Mike, do not let me see
112:143,41[J  ]| his bones."
112:143,42['  ]| But the grandfather Ellis was safe in$4$ the next grave.  Rackett laid another
112:143,43['  ]| fuse.  They all stood back.  Bang!  Boom!  Pouf!  went the dust.
112:144,00[U  ]| <iii>
112:144,00['  ]| Jack would have done anything to$9$ escape the funeral, but Timothy, for$4$ some
112:144,02['  ]| reason, kept hold of him.  He wanted him to$9$ help replace the turf:  moral
112:144,03['  ]| support rather than physical assistance.
112:144,04['  ]| The two of them hid behind the pinch.  At last they saw the corte=ge
112:144,05['  ]| approaching.  Easu*Ellis held the reins of the first team, and chewed the end
112:144,06['  ]| of the whip.  Beside him sat Joshua*Jenkins, as a mute, fearful in$4$ black, and
112:144,07['  ]| like$4$ a scarecrow with loose danglings of crape.  In$4$ the buggy behind them, on$4$
112:144,08['  ]| the floor-boards, was Gran's coffin, shaking woefully, covered with a black
112:144,09['  ]| cloth.  Joe*Low drove the second buggy, which$6#1$ was the second hearse, and he
112:144,10['  ]| looked strained and anxious as the heavy coffin bumped when the buggy
112:144,11['  ]| dropped into holes on$4$ the track.  Then came the family shay with the chief
112:144,12['  ]| male mourners.  Then a little crowd on$4$ foot.
112:144,13['  ]| The horses were behaving badly, not liking the road.  It was hot, the vile
112:144,14['  ]| east wind was blowing.  Easu's horse jibbed at the slough of the stream:  would
112:144,15['  ]| not take it.  He was afraid they would jump, and toss the coffin out of the
112:144,16['  ]| buggy.  He had to$9$ get bearers to$9$ carry Gran's poor remains across the mud
112:144,17['  ]| and up$4$ the pinch to$4$ their last house.  The bearers sunk almost to$4$ their knees
112:144,18['  ]| in$4$ mud.  The whole cortege was at a standstill.
112:144,19['  ]| Joe*Low's horses, mortally frightened, were jumping round till they were
112:144,20['  ]| almost facing the horses in$4$ the mourners' shay.  Easu ran to$4$ their heads.  More
112:144,21['  ]| bearers, strong men, came forward to$9$ lift out Dad's heavy coffin.  Everybody
112:144,22['  ]| watched in$4$ terror as they staggered through the slough of the stream with
112:144,23['  ]| that$6#2$ unnatural burden.  Was it going to$9$ fall?
112:144,24['  ]| No$7$, they were through.  Men were putting branches and big stones for$4$ the
112:144,25['  ]| foot-mourners to$9$ cross, everybody sweating and sweltering.  The sporting
112:144,26['  ]| parson, his white surplice waving in$4$ the hateful, gritty hot wind, came
112:144,27['  ]| striding over, holding his book.  Then Tom, with a wooden, stupid face.
112:144,28['  ]| Then Lennie, cracking nuts between his teeth and spitting out the shells, in$4$
112:144,29['  ]| an agony of nervousness.  Then the other mourners, some carrying a few
112:144,30['  ]| late, weird bush-flowers, picking their way over like$4$ a train of gruesome
112:144,31['  ]| fowls, staggering and clutching on$4$ the stones and boughs, landing safe on$4$
112:144,32['  ]| the other bank.  Jack watched from a safe distance above.
112:144,33['  ]| There were two coffins, one on$4$ either side of the grave.  Some of the uncles
112:144,34['  ]| had top hats with dangling crape.  Nearly everybody was black.  Poor Len,
112:144,35['  ]| what a black little crow he looked!  The sporting parson read the service
112:144,36['  ]| manfully.  Then he announced hymn number 225.
112:144,37['  ]| Jack could feel the hollow place below, with the black mourners, simmer
112:144,38['  ]| with panic, when the parson in$4$ cold blood asked them to$9$ sing a hymn.  But he
112:144,39['  ]| read the first verse solemnly, like$4$ an overture:
112:144,40@z   | "Oh sweet and blessed country
112:144,41@z   | The home of God's elect!
112:144,42@z   | Oh sweet and blessed country
112:144,43@z   | That$6#1$ eager hearts expect ~~ "
112:145,01['  ]| There was a deadly pause.  There was going to$9$ be no$2$ answer from the
112:145,02['  ]| uncomfortable congregation, under that$6#2$ hot sun.
112:145,03['  ]| But Uncle*Blogg was not to$9$ be daunted.  He struck up$5$ in$4$ a rather fat,
112:145,04['  ]| wheezy, Methodist voice, and Aunt*Ruth piped feebly.  The maiden aunts,
112:145,05['  ]| who$6#1$ had insisted on$4$ following their mother, though women were not expected
112:145,06['  ]| to$9$ attend, listened to$4$ this for$4$ an awful minute or two, then they
112:145,07['  ]| waveringly "tried" to$9$ join in$5$.  It was really only funny.  And Tom, in$4$ all his
112:145,08['  ]| misery, suddenly started to$9$ laugh.  Lennie looked up$5$ at him with wide eyes,
112:145,09['  ]| but Tom's shoulders shook, shook harder, especially when Aunt*Minnie
112:145,10['  ]| "tried" to$9$ sing also.  That$6#2$ alto he could not bear.
112:145,11['  ]| The Reds were beginning to$9$ grin sheepishly and to$9$ turn their heads over
112:145,12['  ]| their shoulders, as if the open country would not object to$4$ their grins.  It was
112:145,13['  ]| becoming a scandal.
112:145,14['  ]| Lennie saved the situation.  His voice came clear and pure, like$4$ a chorister's,
112:145,15['  ]| rising above the melancholy "trying" of the relations, a clear, pure
112:145,16['  ]| singing, that$6#1$ seemed to$9$ dominate the whole wild bush.
112:145,17@z   | "Oh sweet and blessed country
112:145,18@z   | That$6#1$ eager hearts expect.
112:145,19@z   | 
112:145,20@z   | Jesu in$4$ mercy bring us
112:145,21@z   | To$4$ that$6#2$ dear land of rest;
112:145,22@z   | Who$6#1$ art with God the Father,
112:145,23@z   | And Spirit ever blessed."
112:145,24['  ]| At the sound of Lennie's voice, Tom turned white as a sheet, and looked as
112:145,25['  ]| if he were going to$9$ die, too.  But the boy's voice soared on$5$, with that$6#2$ pure
112:145,26['  ]| quality of innocence that$6#1$ was sheer agony to$4$ the elder brother.
112:145,00[U  ]| <iv>
112:145,27['  ]| Jack, who$6#1$ was looking sick again, was sent away to$4$ the Greenlows' next day.
112:145,28['  ]| And he was glad to$9$ go, thankful to$9$ be out of it.  He loathed death, he loathed
112:145,29['  ]| death, and Wandoo had suddenly become full of death.
112:145,30['  ]| The first cool days of the year, golden and blue, were at hand.  The
112:145,31['  ]| Greenlow girls made much of him.  He rode with them after sheep, inspecting
112:145,32['  ]| fences, examining far-off wells.  They were not bad girls at all.  They
112:145,33['  ]| taught him to$9$ play solitaire at evening, to$9$ hold worsted, even to$9$ spin.  Real
112:145,34['  ]| companionable girls, thankful to$9$ have a young man in$4$ the house, spoiling
112:145,35['  ]| him completely.  Pa was home after the first day, and acted as a sort of hairy
112:145,36['  ]| chimpanzee chaperone, but looking over his spectacles and hissing through
112:145,37['  ]| his teeth was his severest form of reproof.  He did not set Jack to$9$ wash that$6#2$
112:145,38['  ]| Sunday, but even gave him tit-bits from the joint, so$3$ that$3$ our young hero
112:145,39['  ]| almost knew what it was to$9$ have a prospective father-in-law.
112:145,40['  ]| Jack left Gum*Tree*Croft with regret.  For$3$ he knew 
112:145,40@a   | his life at Wandoo was
112:145,41@a   | over.  Now Dad was dead, everything was going to$9$ break up$5$.  
112:145,41['  ]| This was bitter
112:145,42['  ]| to$4$ him, for$3$ it was the first place he had ever loved, ever wanted to$9$ stay in$4$, for*ever 
112:146,01['  ]| and ever.  He loved the family.  He could not bear to$9$ go away from them.
112:146,02[A  ]| "Never mind!"  
112:146,02['  ]| he said to$4$ himself.  
112:146,02[A  ]| "I shall always have them in$4$ some way or
112:146,03[A  ]| other, all my life."
112:146,04['  ]| Things seemed different when he got back.  There was not much real
112:146,05['  ]| difference, except a bit of raking and clearing up$5$ had been done for$4$ the
112:146,06['  ]| funeral.  But Wandoo itself seemed to$9$ have died.  For$4$ the meantime the
112:146,07['  ]| homestead was as if dead.
112:146,08['  ]| Grace and Monica looked unnatural in$4$ black frocks.  They felt unnatural.
112:146,09['  ]| Jack was told that$3$ Mr*George was having a conclave in$4$ the parlour, and
112:146,10['  ]| that$3$ he was to$9$ go in$5$.
112:146,11['  ]| Tom, Mrs*Ellis and Mr*George and Dr*Rackett were there, seated round
112:146,12['  ]| the table, on$4$ which$6#1$ were some papers.  Jack shook hands, and sat uneasily in$4$
112:146,13['  ]| an empty chair on$4$ Dr*Rackett's side of the table.  Mr*George was explaining
112:146,14['  ]| things simply.
112:146,15@c   | Mr*Ellis left no$2$ will$0$.  But the first marriage certificate had been found.  Tom
112:146,16@c   | was to$9$ inherit Wandoo, but not till he came legally of age, in$4$ a year and a
112:146,17@c   | half's time.  Meanwhile, Mrs*Ellis could continue on$4$ the place, and carry on$5$ as
112:146,18@c   | best she might, on$4$ behalf of herself and all the children.  For$4$ a year and a half.
112:146,19['  ]| She heard in$4$ silence.  After a year and a half she would be homeless:  or at
112:146,20['  ]| least dependent on$4$ Tom, who$6#1$ was not her son.  She was silent in$4$ her black
112:146,21['  ]| dress.
112:146,22['  ]| Tom cleared his throat and stared at the table.  Then he looked up$5$ at Jack,
112:146,23['  ]| and, scarlet in$4$ the face, said:
112:146,24[H  ]| "I have been thinking, Ma, I do not want the place.  You have it, for$4$ Len.  I
112:146,25[H  ]| do not want it.  You have it, for$4$ Len and the kids.  I would rather go away.  Best if that$6#2$
112:146,26[H  ]| certificate had not never been found, if you are going to$9$ feel you are turned
112:146,27[H  ]| out."
112:146,28['  ]| He dropped his head in$4$ confusion.  Mr*George held up$5$ his hand.
112:146,29[C  ]| "No$2$ more of that$6#2$ heroic talk," 
112:146,29['  ]| he said.  
112:146,29[C  ]| "When Jacob*Ellis stored up$5$ that$6#2$
112:146,30[C  ]| marriage certificate at the bottom of that$6#2$ box, he showed what he meant.
112:146,31[C  ]| And you may feel as you say to-day, but two years hence you might repent it."
112:146,32['  ]| Tom looked up$5$ angrily.
112:146,33[I  ]| "I do not believe Tom would ever regret it," 
112:146,33['  ]| put in$5$ Mrs*Ellis.  
112:146,33[I  ]| "But I could not
112:146,34[I  ]| think of it.  Len would not let me, even if I wanted to$9$."
112:146,35[C  ]| "Of course not," 
112:146,35['  ]| said Mr*George.  
112:146,35[C  ]| "We have got to$9$ be sensible, and the law is
112:146,36[C  ]| the law.  You \can not\ alter it yet, my boy, even if you want to$9$.  You are not of age
112:146,37[C  ]| yet.
112:146,38[C  ]| So$3$ you listen to$4$ me.  My plan is for$4$ you and Jack to$9$ go out into the colony
112:146,39[C  ]| and get some experience.  Sow your wild oats, if you have got any to$9$ sow, or else
112:146,40[C  ]| pick up$5$ a bit of \good\ oat-seed.  One or the other.
112:146,41[C  ]| My idea is for$4$ you and Jack to$9$ go up$5$ for$4$ a year to$4$ Lang's Well*station, out
112:146,42[C  ]| Roeburne way.  Lang will$1$ give you your keep and a pound a week each, and
112:146,43[C  ]| your fare refunded if you stay a year.
112:146,44[C  ]| The Rob-Roy sails from Geraldton about a month from now; you can get
112:146,45[C  ]| passages on$4$ her.  And I thought it would be just as well, Tom, if you and Jack
112:147,01[C  ]| rode up$5$ through that$6#2$ midland country.  You have a hundred connections to$9$
112:147,02[C  ]| see, who$6#1$ will$1$ change your horses for$4$ you.  And you will$1$ see the country.  And you will$1$ be
112:147,03[C  ]| men of travel.  We want men of experience, men of wide outlook.  Somebody has
112:147,04[C  ]| got to$9$ be the headpiece of this colony when men like$4$ me and the rest of
112:147,05[C  ]| us are gone.  It will$1$ be a three hundred mile ride, but you have nigh on$4$ a month to$9$
112:147,06[C  ]| do it.
112:147,07[C  ]| Now, what do you say, my boy?  Your mother will$1$ stop on$5$ here with the
112:147,08[C  ]| children.  I will$1$ see she gets a good man to$9$ run the place.  And meanwhile she will$1$
112:147,09[C  ]| be able to$9$ fix something up$5$ for$4$ herself.  Oh, we shall settle all right.  I will$1$ see
112:147,10[C  ]| your mother through all right.  No$2$ fear of that$6#2$.  And no$2$ fear of any deterioration
112:147,11[C  ]| to$4$ the place.  I will$1$ watch that$6#2$.  You bet I will$1$."
112:147,12['  ]| Tom twisted his fingers, white at the gills, and mumbled his thanks
112:147,13['  ]| vaguely.
112:147,14[C  ]| "Jack,"  
112:147,14['  ]| said Mr*George.  
112:147,14[C  ]| "I know you are game.  And you will$1$ look after
112:147,15[C  ]| Tom."
112:147,16['  ]| Dr*Rackett said 
112:147,16@q   | he thought it a wise plan, and further, that$3$ if Mrs*Ellis
112:147,17@q   | would consent, he would like$1$ to$9$ bear the expenses of sending Lennie to$4$
112:147,18@q   | school in$4$ England for$4$ the next three years.
112:147,19['  ]| Mrs*Ellis woke from her dream to$9$ say quickly:
112:147,20[I  ]| "Although I thank you kindly, Dr*Rackett, I think you will$1$ understand if I
112:147,21[I  ]| say No$7$."
112:147,22['  ]| Her decision startled everybody.
112:147,23[C  ]| "Prrh!  Bah!"  
112:147,23['  ]| snorted Mr*George.  
112:147,23[C  ]| "There is one thing.  I doubt if we could
112:147,24[C  ]| make Lennie go.  But, with your permission Alice, we will$1$ ask him.  Jack, find
112:147,25[C  ]| Lennie for$4$ us."
112:147,26[I  ]| "I will$1$ not say a word," 
112:147,26['  ]| said Mrs*Ellis, nervously clutching the edge of the
112:147,27['  ]| table.  
112:147,27[I  ]| "I will$1$ not influence him.  But if he goes it will$1$ be the death of me.  Poor old
112:147,28[I  ]| Lennie!  Poor old Lennie!"
112:147,29[C  ]| "Prrh!  Bah!  That$6#2$ is nonsense!  Nonsense!" 
112:147,29['  ]| said Mr*George angrily.  
112:147,29[C  ]| "Give
112:147,30[C  ]| the boy his chance, leave your fool emotions out, d'ye hear, Alice*Ellis."
112:147,31['  ]| Mrs*Ellis sat like$4$ a martyr stubborn at the stake.  Jack brought the mistrustful
112:147,32['  ]| Len, who$6#1$ stood like$4$ a prisoner at the bar.  Mr*George put the case as
112:147,33['  ]| attractively as possible.
112:147,34['  ]| Len slowly shook his head, with a grimace of distaste.
112:147,35[J  ]| "No$7$, I \do not\ think!"  
112:147,35['  ]| he remarked.  
112:147,35[J  ]| "Not fer mine, you bet!  I stays alongside
112:147,36[J  ]| my pore ol' Ma, here in$4$ Western*Australia."
112:147,37['  ]| Mr*George adjusted his eyeglasses severely.
112:147,38[C  ]| "Your mother is neither poor nor old," 
112:147,38['  ]| he said coldly.
112:147,39[J  ]| "I never!"  
112:147,39['  ]| broke out Lennie.
112:147,40[C  ]| "And this country, thank God, is called Australia, not Austrylia.  When you
112:147,41[C  ]| open your mouth you give proof enough of your need for$4$ education.  I
112:147,42[C  ]| should like$1$ to$9$ hear different language in$4$ your mouth, my son, and see
112:147,43[C  ]| different ideas working in$4$ your head."
112:147,44['  ]| Lennie, rather pale and nervous, stared with wide eyes at him.
112:147,45[J  ]| "You never," 
112:147,45['  ]| he said.  
112:147,45[J  ]| "you never ketch me talkin' like$4$ Jack*Grant, not if you
112:148,01[J  ]| skin me alive."  
112:148,01['  ]| And he shifted from one foot to$4$ the other.
112:148,02[C  ]| "I would not take the trouble to$9$ skin you, alive or dead.  Your skin would not
112:148,03[C  ]| be worth it.  But come.  You are an intelligent boy.  You \need\ education.  You
112:148,04[C  ]| \need\ it.  Your nature needs it, child.  Your mother ought to$9$ see that$6#2$.  Your
112:148,05[C  ]| nature needs you to$9$ be educated, well educated.  You will$1$ be wasted
112:148,06[C  ]| afterwards ~~ you will$1$.  And you will$1$ repent it.  Mark me, you will$1$ repent it, when
112:148,07[C  ]| you are older, and your spirit, which$6#1$ should be trained and equipped, is all
112:148,08[C  ]| clumsy and half-baked as any other cornseed's.  You will$1$ be a fretful, uneasy,
112:148,09[C  ]| wasted man, you will$1$.  Your mother ought to$9$ see that$6#2$.  You will$1$ be a half-baked,
112:148,10[C  ]| quarter-educated bushwhacker, instead of a well-equipped man."
112:148,11['  ]| Len looked wonderingly at his mother.  But she still sat like$4$ an obstinate
112:148,12['  ]| martyr at the stake, and gave him no$2$ sign.
112:148,13[J  ]| "Do not \he\ educate me?"  
112:148,13['  ]| asked Len, pointing to$4$ Rackett.
112:148,14[C  ]| "As much as you will$1$ let him," 
112:148,14['  ]| said Mr*George.  
112:148,14[C  ]| "But ~~ "
112:148,15['  ]| Lennie's face crumpled up$5$ with irritation.
112:148,16[J  ]| "Oh, what for$4$ do you \want\ me to$9$ be educated!"  
112:148,16['  ]| he cried testily.  
112:148,16[J  ]| "I do not
112:148,17[J  ]| want to$9$ be like$4$ Uncle*Blogg.  I do not wantter be like$4$ Dr*Rackett even."  
112:148,17['  ]| He
112:148,18['  ]| wrinkled his nose in$4$ distaste.  
112:148,18[J  ]| "'N I do not wantter be like$4$ Jack*Grant, neither.  I
112:148,19[J  ]| do not wantta.  I do not wantta, I tell you I do not wantta."
112:148,20[C  ]| "Do you think they would want to$9$ be like$4$ \you\?"  
112:148,20['  ]| asked Mr*George.
112:148,21['  ]| Lennie looked from him to$4$ Rackett, and then to$4$ Jack.
112:148,22[J  ]| "Jack is not so$5#1$ \very\ diff'rent," 
112:148,22['  ]| he said slowly.  And he shook his head.  
112:148,22[J  ]| "But
112:148,23[J  ]| can not you believe me," 
112:148,23['  ]| he cried.  
112:148,23[J  ]| "I do not wantta go to$4$ England.  I do not wantta talk
112:148,24[J  ]| fine and be like$4$ them.  Can not ye see I do not?  I do not wantta.  What is the good!
112:148,25[J  ]| What is the mortal use of it, anyhow?  Are not I right as I am?"
112:148,26[C  ]| "What \do\ you want to$9$ do?"
112:148,27[J  ]| "I wants to$9$ work.  I wants to$9$ milk and feed, and plough and reap and lay out
112:148,28[J  ]| irrigation, like$4$ Dad.  And I wants to$9$ look after Ma and the kids.  And then I will$1$ get
112:148,29[J  ]| married and be on$4$ a place of me own with kids of me own, and die, like$4$ Dad,
112:148,30[J  ]| and be done for$5$.  That$6#2$ is what I want.  It is."
112:148,31['  ]| He looked desperately at his mother.
112:148,32['  ]| Mr*George slowly shook his head, staring at the keen, beautiful, but
112:148,33['  ]| reluctant boy.
112:148,34[Q  ]| "I suppose that$6#2$ is what we have come to$4$," 
112:148,34['  ]| said Rackett.
112:148,35[J  ]| "Did not you learn me!"  
112:148,35['  ]| cried Lennie defiantly.  And striking a little attitude,
112:148,36['  ]| like$4$ a naive earnest actor, he repeated:
112:148,37@z   | "Here rests, his head upon$4$ the lap of earth,
112:148,38@z   | A youth to$4$ fortune and to$4$ fame unknown.
112:148,39@z   | Fair science frowned not on$4$ his humble birth,
112:148,40@z   | And melancholy marked him for$4$ her own.
112:148,41@z   | 
112:148,42@z   | Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
112:148,43@z   | Heaven did a recompense as largely send.
112:148,44@z   | He gave to$4$ misery all he had, a tear,
112:148,45@z   | He gained from heaven, 'twas all he wished, a friend."
112:148,46[J  ]| "There,"  
112:148,46['  ]| he continued.  
112:148,46[J  ]| "That$6#2$ is me!  And I have got a friend already."
112:148,47[C  ]| "You are a little fool," 
112:148,47['  ]| said Mr*George.  
112:148,47[C  ]| "Much mark of melancholy there is
112:149,01[C  ]| on$4$ you!  And do you think Misery is going to$9$ thank you for$4$ your idiotic tear?
112:149,02[C  ]| As for$4$ your friend, he is going away.  And you are a fool, putting up$5$ a
112:149,03[C  ]| headstone to$4$ yourself while you are alive still.  Damn you, you little fool, and
112:149,04[C  ]| be damned to$4$ you."
112:149,05['  ]| Mr*George was really cross.  He flounced his spectacles off his nose.  Len
112:149,06['  ]| was frightened.  Then he said, rather waveringly, turning to$4$ his mother:
112:149,07[J  ]| "We are all right, Ma, are not we?"
112:149,08['  ]| Mrs*Ellis looked at him with her subtlest, tenderest smile.  And in$4$ Lennie's
112:149,09['  ]| eyes burned a light of youthful indignation against these old men.
113:150,00[U  ]| <Tom and Jack Ride Together>
113:150,00[U  ]| <i>
113:150,01['  ]| These days Monica was fascinating to$4$ Jack's eyes.  She wore a black
113:150,02['  ]| dress, and her slimness, her impulsive girlishness under this cloud
113:150,03['  ]| were wistful, exquisite.  He would have liked to$9$ love her, soothingly, protectively,
113:150,04['  ]| passionately.  He would have liked to$9$ cherish her, with passion.  Always
113:150,05['  ]| he looked to$4$ her for$4$ a glance of intimacy, looked to$9$ see if she would not accept
113:150,06['  ]| his passion and his cherishing.  He wanted to$9$ touch her, to$9$ kiss her, to$9$ feel the
113:150,07['  ]| eternal lightning of her slim body through the cloud of that$6#2$ black dress.  He
113:150,08['  ]| wanted to$9$ declare to$4$ her that$3$ he loved her, as Alec*Rice had declared to$4$
113:150,09['  ]| Grace; and he wanted to$9$ ask her to$9$ marry him.  To$9$ ask her to$9$ marry him at
113:150,10['  ]| once.
113:150,11['  ]| But mostly he wanted to$9$ touch her and hold her in$4$ his arms.  He watched
113:150,12['  ]| her all the time, hoping to$9$ get one of the old, long looks from her yellow eyes,
113:150,13['  ]| from under her bended brows.  Her long, deep enigmatic looks, that$6#1$ used to$9$
113:150,14['  ]| worry him so$5#2$.  Now he longed for$4$ her to$9$ look at him like$4$ that$6#2$.
113:150,15['  ]| Or better still if she would let him see her trouble and her grief, and love
113:150,16['  ]| her so$5#2$, with a passionate cherishing.
113:150,17['  ]| But she would do neither.  She kept her grief and her provocation both out
113:150,18['  ]| of sight, as if neither existed.  Her little face remained mute and closed, like$4$ a
113:150,19['  ]| shut-up bud.  She only spoke to$4$ him with a vague distant voice, and she never
113:150,20['  ]| really looked at him.  Or if she did glance at him, it was in$4$ a kind of anger, and
113:150,21['  ]| pain, as if she did not want to$9$ be interfered with; did not want to$9$ be pulled
113:150,22['  ]| down.
113:150,23['  ]| He was completely puzzled.  Her present state was quite incomprehensible
113:150,24['  ]| to$4$ him.  
113:150,24@a   | She had nothing to$9$ reproach him with, surely.  And if she had loved
113:150,25@a   | him, even a little, she could surely love him that$6#2$ little still.  If she had so$5#1$ often
113:150,26@a   | taken his hand and clutched it, surely she could now let him take her hand, in$4$
113:150,27@a   | real sympathy.
113:150,28@a   | It as as if she were angry with \him\ because Dad had died.  Jack had not
113:150,29@a   | wanted Dad to$9$ die.  Indeed, no$7$.  He was cut up$5$ by$4$ it as if he had been one of
113:150,30@a   | the family.  And it was as bad a blow to$4$ his destiny as to$4$ hers.  He was as sore
113:150,31@a   | and sorry as anybody.  Yet she kept her face shut against him, and avoided
113:150,32@a   | him, as if \he\ were to$9$ blame.
113:150,33['  ]| Completely puzzled, Jack went on$5$ with his preparations for$4$ departure.  He
113:150,34['  ]| had no$2$ choice.  He was under orders from Mr*George, and with Mrs*Ellis'
113:150,35['  ]| approval, to$9$ quit Wandoo, to$9$ ride with Tom up$5$ to$4$ Geraldton, and to$9$ spend at
113:150,36['  ]| least a year on$4$ the sheep station up$4$ north.  
113:150,36@a   | It had to$9$ be.  It was the wheel of
113:150,37@a   | fate.  So$5#2$ let it be.
113:151,01['  ]| And as the last day drew near, the strange volcano of anger which$6#1$ slumbered
113:151,02['  ]| at the bottom of his soul ~~ a queer, quiescent crater of anger which$6#1$
113:151,03['  ]| churned its deep hot lava invisible ~~ threw up$5$ jets of silver rage, which$6#1$
113:151,04['  ]| hardened rapidly into a black, rocky indifference.  And this was characteristic
113:151,05['  ]| of him:  an indifference which$6#1$ was really congealed anger, and which$6#1$ gave
113:151,06['  ]| him a kind of innocent, remote, childlike quietness.
113:151,07['  ]| This was his nature.  He was himself vaguely aware of the unplumbed
113:151,08['  ]| crater of silent anger which$6#1$ lay at the bottom of his soul.  It was not anger
113:151,09['  ]| against any particular thing, or because of anything in$4$ particular.  It was just
113:151,10['  ]| generic, inherent in$4$ him.  It was himself.  It did not make him hate people,
113:151,11['  ]| individually, unless they were hateful.  It did not make him hard or cruel.
113:151,12['  ]| Indeed he was too yielding rather than otherwise, too gentle and mindful of
113:151,13['  ]| horses and cattle, for$4$ example, unmindful of himself.  Tom often laughed at
113:151,14['  ]| him for$4$ it.  If Lucy had a will$0$ of her own, and a caprice she wanted to$9$ execute,
113:151,15['  ]| he always let her go ahead, take her way, as far as was reasonable.  If she
113:151,16['  ]| exceeded her limits his anger roused and there was no$2$ doing any more with
113:151,17['  ]| him.  But he very rarely, very rarely got really angry.  Only then in$4$ the long,
113:151,18['  ]| slow accumulation of hostility, as with Easu.
113:151,19['  ]| But anger!  A deep, fathomless well-head of slowly-moving, invisible fire.
113:151,20['  ]| Somewhere in$4$ his consciousness he was aware of it, and in$4$ this awareness it
113:151,21['  ]| was as if he belonged to$4$ a race apart.  He never felt identified with the great
113:151,22['  ]| humanity.  He belonged to$4$ a race apart, like$4$ the race of Cain.  This he had
113:151,23['  ]| always known.
113:151,24['  ]| Sometimes he met eyes that$6#1$ were eyes of his own outcast race.  As a tiny boy
113:151,25['  ]| it had been so$5#2$.  Fairs had always fascinated him because at the Fairs in$4$
113:151,26['  ]| England he met the eyes of gipsies who$6#1$, in$4$ a glance, understood him.  His
113:151,27['  ]| own people \could\ not understand.  But in$4$ the black eyes of a gipsy woman he
113:151,28['  ]| had seen the answer, even as a boy of ten.  And he had thought:  
113:151,28@a   | I ought to$9$ go
113:151,29@a   | away with her, run away with her.
113:151,30['  ]| It was the anger, the deep, burning \life-anger\ which$6#1$ was the kinship.  Not a
113:151,31['  ]| deathly, pale, nervous anger.  But an anger of the old blood.  And it was this
113:151,32['  ]| which$6#1$ had attracted him to$4$ grooms, horsey surroundings, and to$4$ pugilists.  In$4$
113:151,33['  ]| them was some of this same deep, generous anger of the blood.  And now in$4$
113:151,34['  ]| Australia, too, he saw it like$4$ a secret away at the bottom of the black, full,
113:151,35['  ]| strangely shining eyes of the aborigines.  There it lay, the secret, like$4$ an
113:151,36['  ]| eternal, brilliant snake.  And it established at once a kind of free-masonry
113:151,37['  ]| between him and the blacks.  They were curiously aware of him, when he
113:151,38['  ]| came:  aware of his coming, aware of his going.  As if in$4$ him were the same
113:151,39['  ]| great Serpent of their anger.  And they were downcast now he was going
113:151,40['  ]| away, as if their strength were being taken from them.  Old Tim, who$6#1$ had
113:151,41['  ]| taken a great fancy to$4$ Jack, relapsed into a sort of glumness as if he, too, now,
113:151,42['  ]| were preparing to$9$ die.
113:151,43['  ]| Since Jack had come back from the Greenlows' farm, Monica had withdrawn
113:151,44['  ]| to$4$ a distance, a kind of luminous distance, and put a chasm between
113:151,45['  ]| herself and Jack.  She moved mute and remote on$4$ the shining side of the
113:152,01['  ]| chasm.  He stood on$4$ the dark side, looking across the blackness of the gulf at
113:152,02['  ]| her as if she were some kind of star.  
113:152,02@a   | Surely the gulf would close up$5$.  Surely
113:152,03@a   | they both would be on$4$ natural ground again.
113:152,04@a   | But, no$7$!  always that$6#2$ incomprehensible little face with fringed lashes, and
113:152,05@a   | mouth that$6#1$ opened with a little smile, a vulnerable little smile, as if asking
113:152,06@a   | them all to$9$ be kind to$4$ her, to$9$ be pitiful towards her, and not try to$9$ touch her.
113:152,07[A  ]| "Well, good-bye, Monica, for$4$ the present," 
113:152,07['  ]| he said, as he sat in$4$ the saddle in$4$
113:152,08['  ]| the yard, and Tom started away riding towards the gate, leading the bulky-looking
113:152,09['  ]| pack-horse.
113:152,10[D  ]| "Good-bye.  Come back!"  
113:152,10['  ]| said Monica, looking up$5$ with a queer, hard little
113:152,11['  ]| question come into her eyes, but her face remote as ever.
113:152,12['  ]| Jack kicked his horse and started.
113:152,13[A  ]| "I will$1$ come back," 
113:152,13['  ]| he said over his shoulder.  But he did not look round at her.
113:152,14['  ]| His heart had gone hard and hot in$4$ his breast.  
113:152,14@a   | He was glad to$9$ be going.
113:152,15['  ]| Lennie had opened the gate.  He stood there as Jack rode through.
113:152,16[J  ]| "Why can not I never come?"  
113:152,16['  ]| he cried.
113:152,17['  ]| Jack laughed and rode on$5$, after the faithful Tom.  
113:152,17@a   | He was glad to$9$ go.  He
113:152,18@a   | was glad to$9$ leave Wandoo.  He was glad to$9$ say no$2$ more good-byes, and to$9$ feel
113:152,19@a   | no$2$ more pain.  He was glad to$9$ be gone, since he was going, from the unlucky
113:152,20@a   | place.  He was glad to$9$ be gone from its doom.  There was a doom over it, a
113:152,21@a   | doom.  And he was glad to$9$ be gone.
113:152,22@a   | The morning was still orange and green.  Winter had set in$4$ at last, the rains
113:152,23@a   | had begun to$9$ be heavy.  They might have trouble with drenchings and
113:152,24@a   | boggings, but that$6#2$, Tom said, was better than drought and sunstrokes.  And,
113:152,25@a   | anyhow, the weather this morning was perfect.
113:152,26@a   | The dark forest of Karri that$6#1$ ran to$4$ the left of Wandoo away on$4$ the distant
113:152,27@a   | horizon, cut a dark pattern on$4$ the egg-green sky.  Good-bye!  Good-bye!  to$4$ it.
113:152,28@a   | The sown fields they were riding through glittered with tender blades of
113:152,29@a   | wheat.  Good-bye!  Good-bye!  Somebody would reap it.  The bush was now
113:152,30@a   | full of sparks of the beautiful, uncanny flowers of Western*Australia, and
113:152,31@a   | bright birds started and flew.  Sombre the bush was in$4$ itself, but out of the
113:152,32@a   | heavy dullness came sharp scarlet, flame-spark flowers, and flowers as
113:152,33@a   | lambent gold as sunset, and wan white flowers, and flowers of a strange,
113:152,34@a   | darkish rich blue, like$4$ the vault of heaven just after sundown.  The scent of
113:152,35@a   | rain, of eucalyptus, and of the strange brown-green shrubs of the bush!
113:152,36['  ]| They rode in$4$ silence.  Tom ahead with the pack-horse, and they did not
113:152,37['  ]| draw near, but rode apart.  They were travelling due west from York, along a
113:152,38['  ]| bush track towards Paddy's*Crossing.  And as they went they drew nearer and
113:152,39['  ]| nearer to$4$ the dark, low fringe of hills behind which$6#1$, for$4$ the last twelve
113:152,40['  ]| months, Jack had seen the sun setting with its great golden glow.  Trees grew
113:152,41['  ]| along the ridge of the hills, scroll-like and mysterious.  They had always
113:152,42['  ]| seemed to$4$ Jack like$4$ the bar of heaven.
113:152,43['  ]| By$4$ noon the riders reached the ridge, and the bar of heaven was the huge
113:152,44['  ]| Karri trees which$6#1$ went up$5$ aloft so$5#1$ magnificently.  But the Karri forest ended
113:152,45['  ]| here with a jerk.  Beyond, the earth ran away down long, long slopes covered
113:153,01['  ]| with scrub, down the greyness and undulation of Australia, towards the
113:153,02['  ]| great dimness where was the coast.  The sun was hot at noon.  Jack was glad
113:153,03['  ]| when Tom called a halt under the last trees, facing the great, soft, open
113:153,04['  ]| swaying of the land seaward, and they began to$9$ make tea.
113:153,05['  ]| They had hardly sat down to$9$ drink their tea, when they heard a buggy
113:153,06['  ]| approaching.  It was the mysterious Dr*Rackett, driven by$4$ the grinning Sam.
113:153,07['  ]| Rackett said nothing, just greeted the youths, pulled his tin mug and tucker
113:153,08['  ]| from under the buggy seat, and joined in$4$, chatting casually as if it had all
113:153,09['  ]| been pre-arranged.
113:153,10['  ]| Tom was none too pleased, but he showed nothing.  And when the tea was
113:153,11['  ]| finished, he made good by$4$ handing over the beast of a pack-horse to$4$ Sam.
113:153,12['  ]| Poor Sam sat in$4$ the back of the vehicle lugging the animal along, jerking its
113:153,13['  ]| reluctant neck.  Rackett drove in$4$ lonely state on$4$ the driving seat.  Tom and
113:153,14['  ]| Jack trotted quickly ahead, on$4$ the down-slope, and were soon out of sight.
113:153,15['  ]| They were thankful to$9$ ride free.
113:153,16['  ]| Over the ridge they felt Wandoo was left behind, and they were in$4$ the
113:153,17['  ]| open world again, away from care.  Whenever man drives his tent-pegs deep,
113:153,18['  ]| to$9$ stay, he drives them into underlying water of sorrow.  Best ride tentless.  So$5#2$
113:153,19['  ]| thought the boys.
113:153,20['  ]| They were going to$4$ a place called Paddy's*Crossing, a settlement new to$4$
113:153,21['  ]| Jack, but well known to$4$ Tom as the place where men went when they wanted
113:153,22['  ]| a private jamboree.
113:153,23['  ]| What a jamboree was, Jack, being a gentleman ~~ that$6#2$ is, not a lady ~~ would
113:153,24['  ]| learn in$4$ due course.
113:153,25['  ]| As the ground came to$4$ a rolling hollow, Tom set off at a good pace, and
113:153,26['  ]| away they went, galloping beautifully along the soft earth trail, galloping,
113:153,27['  ]| galloping, putting the miles between them and Wandoo and women and
113:153,28['  ]| care.  They both rode in$4$ a kind of passion for$4$ riding, for$4$ hurling themselves
113:153,29['  ]| ahead down the new road.  To$9$ be men out alone in$4$ the world, away from the
113:153,30['  ]| women and the dead stone of trouble.
113:153,31['  ]| They reached the river hours before Rackett's turn-out.  Fording, they
113:153,32['  ]| rode into the mushroom settlement, a string of slab cabins with shingle roofs
113:153,33['  ]| and calico window-panes ~~ or else shuttered-up windows.  The stoves were
113:153,34['  ]| outside the chimney-less cabins, under brush shelters.  One such "kitchen," a
113:153,35['  ]| fore-runner, had already a roof of flattened-out, rusty tin cans.
113:153,36['  ]| But it was a cosy, canny nook, homely, nestling down in$4$ the golden corner
113:153,37['  ]| of the earth, the mimosa in$4$ bloom by$4$ the river.  And it was beautifully
113:153,38['  ]| ephemeral.  As transient, as casual as the bushes themselves.
113:153,39['  ]| Jack for$4$ the moment had a dread of solid houses of brick and stone and
113:153,40['  ]| permanence.  There was always horror somewhere inside them.
113:153,41['  ]| He wanted the empty, timeless Australia, with nooks like$4$ this of flimsy
113:153,42['  ]| wooden cabins by$4$ a river with a wattle bush.
113:153,43['  ]| There was one older, white-washed cabin with vine trellises.
113:153,44[H  ]| "That$6#2$ is Paddy's," 
113:153,44['  ]| said Tom.  
113:153,44[H  ]| "He grows grapes, and makes wine out of the
113:153,45[H  ]| little black ones.  But the muscats is best.  I am not keen on$4$ wine anyhow.
113:154,01[H  ]| Something a drop more warming."
113:154,02['  ]| Jack was amazed at the good Tom.  He had never known him to$9$ drink.
113:154,03[A  ]| "There is nobody about," 
113:154,03['  ]| said Jack, as they rode up$4$ the incline between the
113:154,04['  ]| straggling cabins.
113:154,05[H  ]| "All asleep," 
113:154,05['  ]| said Tom.
113:154,06['  ]| It was not so$5#2$, however, because as they crested the slope and looked into
113:154,07['  ]| the little hollow beyond, they saw a central wooden building, hall or mission
113:154,08['  ]| or church, and people crowding like$4$ flies.
113:154,09['  ]| But Tom turned up$5$ to$4$ Paddy's white inn, up$4$ the side slope.  He was
113:154,10['  ]| remorseful about having galloped the horses at the beginning of such a  long
113:154,11['  ]| trip.  The inn seemed deserted.  Tom Coo-eeed! but there was no$2$ answer.
113:154,12[H  ]| "All shut up$5$!"  
113:154,12['  ]| he said.  
113:154,12[H  ]| "What is that$6#2$ paper on$4$ the door?"
113:154,13['  ]| Jack got down and walked stiffly to$4$ the door, for$3$ the ride had been long
113:154,14['  ]| and hard and downhill, and his knees were hurting.  
113:154,14@x   | "Gone to$4$ the wedin be
113:154,15@x   | ome soon P%*O%*T%" 
113:154,15['  ]| he read.  
113:154,15[A  ]| "What is P%*O%*T%?"  
113:154,15['  ]| he asked.
113:154,16[H  ]| "What I stand in$4$ need of," 
113:154,16['  ]| said the amazing Tom.
113:154,17['  ]| They were just turning their horses towards the stable when, with a racket
113:154,18['  ]| and a canter, an urchin drove round from the yard in$4$ the pitch-black wicker
113:154,19['  ]| chaise, a bone-white, careworn horse slopping between the shafts.
113:154,20[W  ]| "You two blokes," 
113:154,20['  ]| yelled the urchin, 
113:154,20[W  ]| " had better get on$5$ to$4$ the trail for$4$ the
113:154,21[W  ]| church, elst Father*Prendy  will$1$ be on$4$ your tail, I tell you."
113:154,22[H  ]| "What is up$5$?"  
113:154,22['  ]| shouted Tom.
113:154,23[W  ]| "I am just off for$4$ the bride.  Ol' Nick 'ere 'eld me up$5$ runnin' away from me in$4$
113:154,24[W  ]| the paddock."
113:154,25['  ]| Tom grinned, the outfit swept past.  Our heroes took their horses to$4$ the
113:154,26['  ]| stable and settled them down conscientiously.  Then they set off, glad to$9$ be on$4$
113:154,27['  ]| foot, down to$4$ the church.
113:154,28['  ]| The crowd was buzzing.  It was half-past three.  Father*Prendy, the old
113:154,29['  ]| mission priest, who$6#1$ looked like$4$ a dusty old piece of furniture from a loft, was
113:154,30['  ]| peering up$4$ the road.  The black wicker buggy still made no$2$ appearance with
113:154,31['  ]| the bride.
113:154,32[W  ]| "Two o'clock is the legal limit for$4$ marriages," 
113:154,32['  ]| said Father*Prendy.  
113:154,32[W  ]| "But,
113:154,33[W  ]| praise God, we have half an hour yet."
113:154,34['  ]| And he showed his huge watch, which$6#1$ said half-past one, since he had
113:154,35['  ]| slipped away for$4$ a moment to$9$ put back the fingers.
113:154,36['  ]| The slab-building, hall, school, and church ~~ was now a church, though
113:154,37['  ]| the oleographs of the Queen and the Prince*Consort in$4$ robes still glowed on$4$
113:154,38['  ]| the walls, and a black-board stood with its face to$4$ the wall, and one of those
113:154,39['  ]| wire-things with coloured beads poked out from behind, and the globe of the
113:154,40['  ]| world could not be hidden entirely by$4$ the eucalyptus boughs.
113:154,41['  ]| But it was a church.  A table with a white cloth and a crucifix was the altar.
113:154,42['  ]| Crimson-flowering gum-blossom embowered the walls, the blackboard, the
113:154,43['  ]| windows, but left the Queen and Prince*Consort in$4$ full isolation.  Forms were
113:154,44['  ]| ranked on$4$ the mud floor, and these forms were densely packed with settlers
113:154,45['  ]| dressed in$4$ all kinds of clothes.  It was not only a church, it was a wedding.  Just
113:155,01['  ]| inside the door, like$4$ a figure at Madame*Tussaud's, sat an elderly creature in$4$
113:155,02['  ]| greenish evening suit with white waistcoat and copper-toed boots, waiting
113:155,03['  ]| apparently for$4$ the Last*Trump.  On$4$ the other side was a brown-whiskered
113:155,04['  ]| man in$4$ frock-coat, a grey bell-topper in$4$ his hand, leaning balanced on$4$ a stick.
113:155,05['  ]| He was shod in$4$ white socks and carpet slippers.  Later on$5$ this gentleman
113:155,06['  ]| explained to$4$ Jack:  
113:155,06[W  ]| "I suffer from corns, and should not be happy in$4$ boots."
113:155,07['  ]| There was a great murmuring and staring and shuffling and shifting as
113:155,08['  ]| Jack and Tom came up$5$, as though one of them was the bride in$4$ disguise.  The
113:155,09['  ]| wooden church buzzed like$4$ a cocoanut shell.  A red-faced man seized Tom's
113:155,10['  ]| arm as if Tom were a long-lost brother, and Jack was being introduced,
113:155,11['  ]| shaking the damp, hot, trembling hand of the red-faced man, who$6#1$ was called
113:155,12['  ]| Paddy.
113:155,13[W  ]| "It has fair come over me, so$5#2$ ut has! ~~ praise be to$4$ the saints and may the devil
113:155,14[W  ]| run away with them two young turmagants!  Father*Prendy makin' them
113:155,15[W  ]| come to$4$ this pass all at onst!  For$3$, mark my words, in$4$ his own mind he is
113:155,16[W  ]| thinkin' the wrong they have done, neither of them speakin' to$9$ confess, till he
113:155,17[W  ]| was driven to$9$ remark on$4$ the girl's unnatural figure.  And not a soul in$4$ the
113:155,18[W  ]| world, mark you, has seen them speak a word to$4$ one another for$4$ the last year
113:155,19[W  ]| in$5$ or out.  But she says it is he, and Danny*Mackinnon, he payin', I will$1$ be bound,
113:155,20[W  ]| that$6#2$ black priest of a Father*Prendy to$9$ come over me and make me render up$5$
113:155,21[W  ]| my poor innocent Pat to$4$ the hussy, in$4$ holy matrimony.  May the saints fly
113:155,22[W  ]| away with them."
113:155,23['  ]| He wiped away his sweat, speechless.  And Danny*Mackinnon, the hussy's
113:155,24['  ]| father ~~ it could be no$2$ other than he ~~ in$4$ moth-eaten scarlet coat and overall
113:155,25['  ]| trousers, and top-boots slashed for$4$ his bunions, and forage-cap slashed for$4$
113:155,26['  ]| his increased head, stood bulging on$4$ the other side of the door, compressed
113:155,27['  ]| in$4$ his youthful uniform, and scarlet in$4$ the face with the compression.  He was
113:155,28['  ]| a stout man with a black beard and a fixed, fierce, solemn expression.
113:155,29['  ]| Creator of this agitated occasion, he was almost bursting with wrathful
113:155,30['  ]| agitation as that$6#2$ hussy of a daughter of his still failed to$9$ appear.  By$4$ his side
113:155,31['  ]| stood an ancient man with a long grey beard, anciently clad.
113:155,32['  ]| Patrick, the bridegroom to$9$ be, lurked near his father.  He was a thin, pale,
113:155,33['  ]| freckled, small-faced youth with broad brittle shoulders and brittle limbs,
113:155,34['  ]| who$6#1$ would, no$2$ doubt, in$4$ time fill out into a burly fellow.  As it was, he was
113:155,35['  ]| agitated and unlovely in$4$ a new ready-made suit and a black bomb of a hard
113:155,36['  ]| hat that$6#1$ would not stay on$5$, and new boots that$6#1$ stank to$4$ heaven of
113:155,37['  ]| improperly-dressed kangaroo hide:  one of the filthiest of stinks.
113:155,38['  ]| Poor Paddy, the father of the bridegroom, was a tall, thin, well set-up man
113:155,39['  ]| with trembling hands and a face like$4$ beetroot, garbed in$4$ a blue coat with
113:155,40['  ]| brass buttons, mole trousers, leggings, and a sideways-leaning top hat.  His tie
113:155,41['  ]| was a flowing red with white spots.  His eyes were light blue and wickedly
113:155,42['  ]| twinkling behind their slight wateriness.
113:155,43[W  ]| "What is that$6#2$ you are sayin' about me?"  
113:155,43['  ]| said Father*Prendy, coming up$5$ rubbing
113:155,44['  ]| his hands, bowing to$4$ the strangers, beaming with a cheerfulness that$6#1$ could
113:155,45['  ]| outlast any delay under the sun.
113:156,01[W  ]| "It was black I was callin' you, Father*Prendy," 
113:156,01['  ]| said Paddy.  
113:156,01[W  ]| "For$4$ the fine pair
113:156,02[W  ]| of black eyes you carry, why not?  Is not it a good drink you will$1$ be havin' on$4$ me
113:156,03[W  ]| afore the day is out, eh?  Is not it a pretty penny you are costin' me, with your
113:156,04[W  ]| marryin' and givin' in$4$ marriage?  And why is not it Danny what pays the wedding
113:156,05[W  ]| breakfast, eh?"
113:156,06[W  ]| "Hold your peace, Paddy, my dear.  I see a wagon comin', do not I?"
113:156,07['  ]| Sure enough the black wicker buggy rattling down hill, the white horse
113:156,08['  ]| seeming to$9$ swim, the urchin standing up$5$, feet wide apart, elbows high up$5$,
113:156,09['  ]| bending forward and urging the bone-white steed with curses unnameable.
113:156,10[W  ]| "What now!  What now!"  
113:156,10['  ]| murmured the priest, feeling in$4$ his pocket for$4$ his
113:156,11['  ]| stole.  
113:156,11[W  ]| "What now!"
113:156,12[W  ]| "Where is Dad?"  
113:156,12['  ]| yelled the urchin, pulling the bone-white steed on$5$ to$4$ its
113:156,13['  ]| bony haunches, in$4$ front of the church.
113:156,14['  ]| Dad had gone round the corner.  But he came bustling and puffing and
113:156,15['  ]| bursting in$4$ his skin-tight scarlet coat, that$6#1$ almost cut his arms off, his own
113:156,16['  ]| ancient father, with a long grey beard, pushing him irritably, propelling him
113:156,17['  ]| towards the slippery boy.  As if this family, generation by$4$ generation, got
113:156,18['  ]| more and more behind-hand in$4$ its arrangements.
113:156,19[W  ]| "Gawd's sake!"  
113:156,19['  ]| blowed the scarlet Dad, as the old grey grand-dad shoved
113:156,20['  ]| him.
113:156,21[W  ]| "Hold ye breath, Dad, and come 'ome!"  
113:156,21['  ]| said the urchin, subsiding comfortably
113:156,22['  ]| on$5$ to$4$ the seat and speaking as if he enjoyed utmost privacy.  
113:156,22[W  ]| "Sis can not get
113:156,23[W  ]| away.  She has had a baby.  And Ma says I was to$9$ tell Mr*O'Burk as it is a foine boy,
113:156,24[W  ]| and would Father*Prendy step up$5$, and Pat*O'Burk can come and see with his
113:156,25[W  ]| own eyes."
114:157,00[U  ]| <Jamboree>
114:157,00[U  ]| <i>
114:157,01[A  ]| "Let us get along," 
114:157,01['  ]| said Jack uncomfortably in$4$ Tom's ear.
114:157,02[H  ]| "Get!  Not for$4$ mine!  We are in$4$ luck's way, if ever we were."
114:157,03[A  ]| "There is no$2$ fun under the circumstances."
114:157,04[H  ]| "Oh, my Lord, Is not there!  What is wrong?  They are all packing into the
114:157,05[H  ]| buggy.  Father*Prendy is putting his watch back a few more minutes.  He will$1$
114:157,06[H  ]| have them married before you can betcher life.  It is a wedding this is, boy!"
114:157,07['  ]| The people now came crowding, nudging, whispering, giggling, stumbling
114:157,08['  ]| out of the church.  The gentleman in$4$ the carpet slippers rakishly adjusted
114:157,09['  ]| his grey bell-topper over his left brow, and came swaggering forward.
114:157,10[H  ]| "Major*Brownlee ~~ Mr*Jack*Grant," 
114:157,10['  ]| Tom introduced them.
114:157,11[W  ]| "Retired and happy in$4$ the country," 
114:157,11['  ]| the Major explained, and he continued
114:157,12['  ]| garrulously to$9$ explain his circumstances, his history and his family
114:157,13['  ]| history.  This continued all the way to$4$ the inn:  a good half-hour, for$3$ the
114:157,14['  ]| Major walked insecurely on$4$ his tender feet.
114:157,15['  ]| When they arrived at Paddy's white, trellised house, all was in$4$ festivity.
114:157,16['  ]| Paddy had thrown open the doors, disclosing the banquet spread in$4$ the bar
114:157,17['  ]| parlour.  Large joints of baked meat, ham, tongue, fowls, cakes and bottles
114:157,18['  ]| and bunches of grapes and piles of apples:  these Jack saw in$4$ splendid
114:157,19['  ]| confusion.
114:157,20[W  ]| "Come along in$4$, come along in$4$!"  
114:157,20['  ]| cried Paddy, as the Major and his young
114:157,21['  ]| companions hesitated under the vine-trellis.  
114:157,21[W  ]| "I guess you are the last.  Come
114:157,22[W  ]| along in$4$ ~~ all welcome! ~~ and wet the baby's eye.  Sure she is a clever girl to$9$ get a
114:157,23[W  ]| baby and a man the same fine afternoon.  A fine child, let me tell you.  Father*Prendy
114:157,24[W  ]| named him for$4$ me.  Paddy*O'Burk*Tracy, on$4$ the spot, the minute the
114:157,25[W  ]| wedding was tied up$5$.  So$3$ you can please yourselves whether it is a christening
114:157,26[W  ]| you are coming to$4$, or a wedding.  I offer ye the choice.  Come in$5$."
114:157,27@a   | "P%*O%*T%," 
114:157,27['  ]| thought Jack.  He still did not feel at ease.  Perhaps Paddy
114:157,28['  ]| noticed it.  He came over and slapped him on$4$ the back.
114:157,29[W  ]| "It is yourrself has brought good luck to$4$ the house, sir.  Sit you down and help
114:157,30[W  ]| yourself.  Sit you down and make yourself at home."
114:157,31['  ]| Jack sat down along with the rest of the heterogeneous company.  Paddy
114:157,32['  ]| went round pouring red wine into glasses.
114:157,33[W  ]| "Gentlemen!"  
114:157,33['  ]| he announced from the head of the table.  
114:157,33[W  ]| "We are all here,
114:157,34[W  ]| for$3$ the table is full up$5$.  The first toast is:  \The stranger within our gates!\"
114:157,35['  ]| Everybody drank but Jack.  He was uncomfortably uncertain whether the
114:157,36['  ]| baby was meant, or himself.  At the last moment he hastily drank, to$9$ transfer
114:157,37['  ]| the honour to$4$ the baby.
114:157,38['  ]| Then came 
114:157,38[W  ]| "The Bride!", 
114:157,38['  ]| then 
114:157,38[W  ]| "The Groom!", 
114:157,38['  ]| then 
114:157,38[W  ]| "The Priest!  Father*Prendy,
114:158,01[W  ]| that$6#2$ black limb of salvation!"  
114:158,01['  ]| Dozens of toasts, it did not seem to$9$
114:158,02['  ]| matter to$4$ whom.  And everybody drank and laughed and made clumsy jokes.
114:158,03['  ]| There were no$2$ women present, at least no$2$ women seated.  Only the women
114:158,04['  ]| who$6#1$ went round the table, waiting.  One!  Two!  Three!  Four!  Five!  Six!
114:158,05['  ]| Seven!  Westminster chimes from the grandfather's clock behind Jack.  Seven
114:158,06['  ]| o'clock!  He had not even noticed them bring in$4$ the lights.  Father*Prendy was
114:158,07['  ]| on$4$ his feet blessing the bride:  
114:158,07[W  ]| "at the moment absent on$4$ the high mission of
114:158,08[W  ]| motherhood."  
114:158,08['  ]| He then blessed the bridegroom, at the moment asleep with
114:158,09['  ]| his head on$4$ the table.
114:158,10['  ]| The table had been cleared, save for$4$ bottles, fruit and terrible cigars.  The
114:158,11['  ]| air was dense with smoke, bitter in$4$ the eyes, thick in$4$ the head.  Everything
114:158,12['  ]| seemed to$9$ be turning thick and swimmy, and the people seemed to$9$ move like$4$
114:158,13['  ]| living oysters in$4$ a natural, live liquor.  A girl was sitting on$4$ Jack's chair,
114:158,14['  ]| putting her arm surreptitiously round his waist, sipping out of his glass.  But
114:158,15['  ]| he pushed her a little aside, because he wanted to$9$ watch four men who$6#1$ had
114:158,16['  ]| started playing euchre.
114:158,17[W  ]| "There is a bright moon, gentlemen.  Let us go out and have a bit of sparrin',"
114:158,18[W  ]| said Paddy swimmingly from the head of the table
114:158,19['  ]| That$6#2$ pleased Jack a lot.  He was beginning to$9$ feel shut in$5$.
114:158,20['  ]| He rose, and the girl ~~ he had never really looked at her ~~ followed him
114:158,21['  ]| out.  
114:158,21@a   | Why did she follow him?  She ought to$9$ stay and clear away dishes.
114:158,22@a   | The yard, 
114:158,22['  ]| it seemed to$4$ Jack, 
114:158,22@a   | was clear as daylight:  or clearer, with a big, flat
114:158,23@a   | white moon.  Someone was sizing up$5$ to$4$ a little square man with long thick
114:158,24@a   | arms, and the little man was probing them off expertly.  Hello!  Here was a
114:158,25@a   | master, in$4$ his way.
114:158,26@a   | The girl was leaning up$5$ against Jack, with her hand on$4$ his shoulder.  This
114:158,27@a   | was a bore, but he supposed it was also a kind of tribute.  He had still never
114:158,28@a   | looked at her.
114:158,29[V  ]| "That$6#2$ is Jake," 
114:158,29['  ]| she said.  
114:158,29[V  ]| "He is champion of these parts.  Oh, my, if he sees
114:158,30[V  ]| me leanin' on$4$ your arm like$4$ this, he will$1$ be after you!"
114:158,31[A  ]| "Well, do not lean on$4$ me, then," 
114:158,31['  ]| said Jack complacently.
114:158,32[V  ]| "Go on$5$, he will$1$ not see me.  We are in$4$ the dark right here."
114:158,33[A  ]| "I do not care if he sees you," 
114:158,33['  ]| said Jack.
114:158,34[V  ]| "You \do\ contradict yourself," 
114:158,34['  ]| said the girl.
114:158,35[A  ]| "Oh, no$7$, I do not!"  
114:158,35['  ]| said Jack.
114:158,36['  ]| And he watched the long-armed man, and never once looked at the girl.
114:158,37['  ]| So$3$ she leaned heavier on$4$ him.  He disapproved, really, but felt rather manly
114:158,38['  ]| under the burden.
114:158,39['  ]| The little, square, long-armed man was oldish; with a grey beard.  Jack saw
114:158,40['  ]| this as he danced round, like$4$ a queer old satyr, half gorilla, half satyr,
114:158,41['  ]| roaring, booing, fencing with a big yahoo of a young bushman, holding him
114:158,42['  ]| off with his unnatural long arms.  Over went the big young fellow sprawling
114:158,43['  ]| on$4$ the ground, causing such a splother that$3$ everyone shifted a bit out of his
114:158,44['  ]| way.  They all roared delightedly.
114:158,45['  ]| The long-armed man, looking round for$4$ his girl, saw her in$4$ the shadow
114:159,01['  ]| leaning heavily and laughingly on$4$ Jack's young shoulder.  Up$5$ he sprang,
114:159,02['  ]| snarling like$4$ a gorilla, his long hairy arms in$4$ front of him.  The girl retreated,
114:159,03['  ]| and Jack, in$4$ a state of semi-intoxicated readiness, opened his arms and
114:159,04['  ]| locked them round the little gorilla of a man.  Locked together, they rolled
114:159,05['  ]| and twirled round the yard under the moon, scattering the delighted on-lookers
114:159,06['  ]| like$4$ a wild cow.  Jack was laughing to$4$ himself, because he had got the
114:159,07['  ]| grip of the powerful long-armed old man.  And there was no$2$ real anger in$4$ the
114:159,08['  ]| tussle.  The gorilla was an old sport.
114:159,09['  ]| Jack was sitting in$4$ a chair under the vine, with his head in$4$ his hands and his
114:159,10['  ]| elbows on$4$ his knees, getting his wind.  Paddy was fanning him with a bunch of
114:159,11['  ]| gum-leaves, and congratulating him heartily.
114:159,12[W  ]| "First chap as ever laid out Long-armed*Jake."
114:159,13[A  ]| "What did he jump on$4$ me for$4$?"  
114:159,13['  ]| said Jack.  
114:159,13[A  ]| "I said nothing to$4$ him."
114:159,14[W  ]| "What you saying'?""  
114:159,14['  ]| ejaculated Paddy coaxingly.  
114:159,14[W  ]| "Did not you take his girl,
114:159,15[W  ]| now?"
114:159,16[A  ]| "Take his girl?  I?  No$7$!  She leaned on$4$ \me\, I did not take her."
114:159,17[W  ]| "Arrah!  Look at that$6#2$ now!  The brazenness of it!  Well, be it on$4$ you!  Take
114:159,18[W  ]| another drink.  Will$1$ you come and show the boys some of your tricks, belike?"
114:159,19['  ]| Jack was in$4$ the yard again, shaking hands with Long-armed*Jake.
114:159,20[W  ]| "Good on$4$ you!  Good on$4$ you!"  
114:159,20['  ]| cried old Jake.  
114:159,20[W  ]| "You are a cock bird in$4$ fine
114:159,21[W  ]| feather!  What is a wench between two gentlemen!  Shake, my lad, shake!  I am
114:159,22[W  ]| Long-armed*Jake, I am, and I set a cock bird before any whure of a hen."
114:159,23['  ]| They rounded up$5$, sparred, staved off, showed off like$4$ two amiable
114:159,24['  ]| fighting-cocks, before the admiring cockeys.  Then they had good-natured
114:159,25['  ]| turns with the young farmers, and mild wrestling bouts with the old veterans.
114:159,26['  ]| Having another drink, playing, gassing, swaggering ~~ 
114:159,27['  ]| Tom came bawling as if he were deaf:
114:159,28[H  ]| "What about them 'osses!"
114:159,29[A  ]| "What about them!"  
114:159,29['  ]| said Jack.
114:159,30[H  ]| "See to$4$ them!"  
114:159,30['  ]| said Tom.  And he went back to$4$ where he came from
114:159,31[X  ]| "All right, Mister, we will$1$ see to$4$ them!"  
114:159,31['  ]| yelled the admiring youngsters.  
114:159,31[X  ]| "We will$1$
114:159,32[X  ]| water them and feed them."
114:159,33[A  ]| "Water?"  
114:159,33['  ]| said Jack.
114:159,34[X  ]| "Yes.  Show us how to$9$ double up$5$, Mister, will$1$ you?"
114:159,35[A  ]| "All right!"  
114:159,35['  ]| said Jack, who$6#1$ was considerably tipsy.  
114:159,35[A  ]| "When ~~ when I have ~~
114:159,36[A  ]| fed ~~ th' osses."
114:159,37['  ]| He set off to$4$ the stables.  The admiring youngsters ran yelling ahead.  They
114:159,38['  ]| brought out the horses and led them down to$4$ the trough.  Jack followed,
114:159,39['  ]| feeling the moon-lit earth sway a little.
114:159,40['  ]| He shoved his head in$4$ between the noses of the horses, into the cool trough
114:159,41['  ]| of water.  When he lifted and wrung out the shower from his hair, which$6#1$
114:159,42['  ]| curled when it was wet, he saw the girl standing near him.
114:159,43[V  ]| "You need a towel, Mister,"  
114:159,43['  ]| she said.
114:159,44[A  ]| "I could do with one," 
114:159,44['  ]| said he.
114:159,45[V  ]| "Come and I will$1$ get you one," 
114:159,45['  ]| she said.
114:160,01['  ]| He followed meekly.  She led him to$4$ an outside room, somewhere near the
114:160,02['  ]| stable.  He stood in$4$ the doorway.
114:160,03[V  ]| "Here you are!"  
114:160,03['  ]| she said, from the darkness inside.
114:160,04[A  ]| "Bring it me," 
114:160,04['  ]| he said from the moon outside.
114:160,05[V  ]| "Come in$4$ and I will$1$ dry your hair for$4$ you."  
114:160,05['  ]| Her voice sounded like$4$ the voice of
114:160,06['  ]| a wild creature in$4$ a black cave.  He ventured, unseeing, uncertain, into the
114:160,07['  ]| den, half reluctant.  But there was a cerain coaxing imperiousness in$4$ her
114:160,08['  ]| wild-animal voice, out of the black darkness.
114:160,09['  ]| He walked straight into her arms.  He started and stiffened as if attacked.
114:160,10['  ]| But her full, soft body was moulded against him.  Still he drew fiercely back.
114:160,11['  ]| Then feeling her yield to$9$ draw away and leave him, the old flame flew over
114:160,12['  ]| him, and he drew her close again.
114:160,13[V  ]| "Dearie!"  
114:160,13['  ]| she murmured.  
114:160,13[V  ]| "Dearie!"  
114:160,13['  ]| and her hand went stroking the back
114:160,14['  ]| of his wet head.
114:160,15[V  ]| "Come!"  
114:160,15['  ]| she said 
114:160,15[V  ]| "And let me dry your hair."
114:160,16['  ]| She led him and sat him on$4$ a pallet bed.  Then she closed the door, through
114:160,17['  ]| which$6#1$ the moonlight was streaming.  The room had no$2$ window.  It was pitch
114:160,18['  ]| dark, and he was trapped.  So$3$ he felt as he sat there on$4$ the hard pallet.  But she
114:160,19['  ]| came instantly and sat by$4$ him and began softly, caressingly to$9$ rub his hair
114:160,20['  ]| with a towel.  Softly, softly, caressingly she rubbed his hair with a towel.  And
114:160,21['  ]| in$4$ spite of himself, his arms, alive with a power of their own, went out and
114:160,22['  ]| clasped her, drew her to$4$ him.
114:160,23[A  ]| "I am supposed to$9$ be in$4$ love with a girl," 
114:160,23['  ]| he said, really not speaking to$4$ her.
114:160,24[V  ]| "Are you, dearie?"  
114:160,24['  ]| she said softly.  And she left off rubbing his hair and
114:160,25['  ]| softly put her mouth to$4$ his.
114:160,26['  ]| Later ~~ he had no$2$ idea what time of the night it was ~~ he went round
114:160,27['  ]| looking for$4$ Tom.  
114:160,27@a   | The place was mostly dark.  The inn was half dark.  Nobody
114:160,28@a   | seemed alive.  But there was music somewhere.  There was music.
114:160,29['  ]| As he went looking for$4$ it, he came face to$4$ face with Dr*Rackett.
114:160,30[A  ]| "Where is Tom?"  
114:160,30['  ]| he asked.
114:160,31[Q  ]| "Best look in$4$ the barn."
114:160,32['  ]| The dim-lighted barn was a cloud of half-illuminated dust, in$4$ which$6#1$
114:160,33['  ]| figures moved.  But the music was still martial and British.  Jack, always tipsy,
114:160,34['  ]| for$3$ he had drunk a good deal and it took effect slowly, deeply, felt something
114:160,35['  ]| in$4$ him stir to$4$ this music.  They were dancing a jig or a hornpipe.  The air was
114:160,36['  ]| all old and dusty in$4$ the barn.  There were four crosses of wooden swords on$4$
114:160,37['  ]| the floor.  Young Patrick, in$4$ his shirt and trousers, had already left off
114:160,38['  ]| dancing for$4$ Ireland, but the Scotsman, in$4$ a red flannel shirt and a reddish
114:160,39['  ]| kilt, was still lustily springing and knocking his heels in$4$ a haze of dust.  The
114:160,40['  ]| Welshman was a little poor fellow in$4$ old shirt and trousers.  But the Englishman,
114:160,41['  ]| in$4$ costermonger outfit, black bell-bottom trousers and lots of pearl
114:160,42['  ]| buttons, was going well.  He was thin and wiry and very neat about the feet.
114:160,43['  ]| Then he left off dancing, and stood to$9$ watch the last two.
114:160,44['  ]| Everybody was drunk, everybody was arguing, according to$4$ his nationality,
114:160,45['  ]| as to$4$ who$6#1$ danced best.  The Englishman in$4$ the bell-bottom trousers \knew\
114:161,01['  ]| he danced best, but spent his last efforts deciding between Sandy and Taffy.
114:161,02['  ]| The music jigged on$5$.  But whether it was "British*Grenadiers"  or "Campbells*are*Coming,"
114:161,03['  ]| Jack did not know.  Only he suddenly felt intensely patriotic.
114:161,04@a   | "I am an Englishman," 
114:161,04['  ]| he thought, with savage pride. 
114:161,04@a   | "I am an Englishman.
114:161,05@a   | That$6#2$ is the best on$4$ earth.  Australian is English, English, English,
114:161,06@a   | she would collapse like$4$ a balloon but for$4$ the English in$4$ her.  British means English
114:161,07@a   | first.  I am a Britisher, but I am an Englishman!  God!  I could crumple the
114:161,08@a   | universe in$4$ my fist, I could.  I am an Englishman, and I could crush everything
114:161,09@a   | in$4$ my hand.  And the women are left behind.  I am an Englishman."
114:161,10['  ]| Voices had begun to$9$ snarl and roar, fists were lifted.
114:161,11[W  ]| "Mussen quarrel! ~~ my weddin'!  Mussen quarrel!"  
114:161,11['  ]| Pat was drunkenly
114:161,12['  ]| saying, sitting on$4$ a box shaking his head.
114:161,13['  ]| Then suddenly he sprang to$4$ his feet, and quick and sharp as a stag, rushed
114:161,14['  ]| to$4$ the wooden swords and stood with arms uplifted, smartly showing the
114:161,15['  ]| steps.  The fellow had spirit, a queer, staccato spirit.
114:161,16['  ]| Somebody laughed and cheered, and then they all began to$9$ laugh and
114:161,17['  ]| cheer, and Pat pranced faster, in$4$ a cloud of dust, and the quarrel was
114:161,18['  ]| forgotten.
114:161,19['  ]| Jack went to$9$ look for$4$ Tom.  
114:161,19@a   | "I am an Englishman," 
114:161,19['  ]| he thought, 
114:161,19@a   | "I had better
114:161,20@a   | look after him"
114:161,21['  ]| He was not in$4$ the barn.  Jack looked and looked.
114:161,22['  ]| He found Tom in$4$ the kitchen, sitting in$4$ a corner, a glass at his side, quite
114:161,23['  ]| drunk.
114:161,24[A  ]| "It is time to$9$ go to$4$ bed, Tom."
114:161,25[H  ]| "Go on$5$, ol' duck.  I am waiting for$4$ me girl."
114:161,26[A  ]| "You will$1$ not get any girl to-night.  Let us go to$4$ bed."
114:161,27[H  ]| "Shall not I get ~~ ?  Yes shall!  Yes shall!"
114:161,28[A  ]| "Where shall I find a bed?"
114:161,29[H  ]| "Plenty 'r flore space."
114:161,30['  ]| And he staggered to$4$ his feet as a short, stout, red-faced, black-eyed, untidy
114:161,31['  ]| girl slipped across the kitchen and out of the door, casting a black-eyed,
114:161,32['  ]| meaningful look at the red-faced Tom, over her shoulder as she disappeared.
114:161,33['  ]| Tom swayed to$4$ his feet and sloped after her with amazing quickness.
114:161,34['  ]| Jack stood staring out of the open door, dazed.  
114:161,34@a   | They both seemed to$9$ have
114:161,35@a   | melted.
114:161,36@a   | Himself, he wanted to$9$ sleep ~~ only to$9$ sleep.  
114:161,36@h   | "Plenty of floor space,"  
114:161,36@a  ]| Tom
114:161,37@a   | had said.  He looked at the floor.  Cockroaches running by$4$ the dozen, in$4$ all
114:161,38@a   | directions:  those brown, barge-like cockroaches of the south, that$6#1$ trail their
114:161,39@a   | huge bellies and sheer off in$4$ automatic straight lines and make a faint
114:161,40@a   | creaking noise, if you listen.  Jack looked at the table:  an old man already lay
114:161,41@a   | on$4$ it.  He opened a cupboard:  babies sleeping there.
114:161,42['  ]| He swayed, drunk with sleep and alcohol, out of the  kitchen in$4$ some
114:161,43['  ]| direction:  pushed a swingdoor:  the powerful smell of beer and sawdust
114:161,44['  ]| made him know it was the bar.  
114:161,44@a   | He could sleep on$4$ the seat.  He could sleep in$4$
114:161,45@a   | peace.
114:162,01['  ]| He lurched forward and touched cloth.  Something snored, started, and
114:162,02['  ]| reared up$5$.
114:162,03[X  ]| "What you at?"
114:162,04['  ]| Jack stood back breathless ~~ the figure subsided ~~ he could beat a retreat.
114:162,05['  ]| Hopeless, he looked in$4$ on$4$ the remains of the breakfast.  Table and every
114:162,06['  ]| bench occupied.  He boldly opened another door.  A small lamp burning, and
114:162,07['  ]| what looked like$4$ dozens of dishevelled elderly women's awful figures heaped
114:162,08['  ]| cross-wise on$4$ the hugest double bed he had ever seen.
114:162,09['  ]| He escaped into the open air.  
114:162,09@a   | The moon was low. Someone was singing.
115:163,00[U  ]| <Uncle John Grant>
115:163,00[U  ]| <i>
115:163,01@a   | It was day.  The lie was hard. He did not want to$9$ wake.  He turned over and
115:163,02@a   | was asleep again, though the lie was very hard.
115:163,03@a   | Someone was pushing him.  Tom, with red, blank face was saying:
115:163,04[H  ]| "Wake up$5$!  Let us go before Rackett starts."
115:163,05@a   | And the rough hands pushing him crudely.  He hated it.
115:163,06@a   | He sat up$5$.  He had been lying on$4$ the bottom of the buggy, with a sack over
115:163,07@a   | him.  No$2$ idea how he got there.  It was full day.
115:163,08[H  ]| "Old woman has got some tea made.  If you want to$9$ change your bags hop over and
115:163,09[H  ]| take a dip in$4$ the pool.  Down the paddock there.  Here is the bag.  I have left soap and
115:163,10[H  ]| comb on$4$ the splash board, and I have seen to$4$ the 'osses.  I am goin' for$4$ a drink while
115:163,11[H  ]| you get ready."
115:163,12['  ]| Tom had got a false dawn on$4$ him.  He had wakened with that$6#2$ false energy
115:163,13['  ]| which$6#1$ sometimes follows a "drunk," and which$6#1$ fades all too quickly.  For$3$ he
115:163,14['  ]| had hardly slept at all.
115:163,15['  ]| So$3$ when Jack was ready, Tom was not.  His stupor was overcoming him.  He
115:163,16['  ]| was cross ~~ and half-way through his second pewter mug of beer.
115:163,17[H  ]| "I am not coming," 
115:163,17['  ]| said Tom.
115:163,18[A  ]| "You \are\," 
115:163,18['  ]| said Jack.  For$4$ the first time he felt that$6#2$ old call of the blood
115:163,19['  ]| which$6#1$ made him master of Tom.  Somewhere, in$4$ the night, the old spirit of a
115:163,20['  ]| master had aroused in$4$ him.
115:163,21['  ]| Tom finished his mug of beer slowly, sullenly.  He put down the empty pot.
115:163,22[A  ]| "Get up$5$!"  
115:163,22['  ]| said Jack.  And Tom got slowly to$4$ his feet.
115:163,23['  ]| They set off, Jack leading the pack-horse.  But the beer and the "night
115:163,24['  ]| before" had got Tom down.  He rode like$4$ a sack in$4$ the saddle, sometimes
115:163,25['  ]| semi-conscious, sometimes really asleep.  Jack followed just behind, with the
115:163,26['  ]| beast of a pack-horse dragging his arm out.  And Tom ahead, like$4$ a sot, with
115:163,27['  ]| no$2$ life in$4$ him.
115:163,28['  ]| Jack himself felt hot inside, and dreary, and riding was a cruel effort, and
115:163,29['  ]| the pack-horse dragging his arm from its socket was hell.  He wished he had
115:163,30['  ]| enough saddle-tree to$9$ turn the rope round:  but he was in$4$ his English saddle.
115:163,31['  ]| Nevertheless, he had decided something, in$4$ that$6#2$ Jamboree.  
115:163,31@a   | He belonged
115:163,32@a   | to$4$ the blood of masters, not servants.  He belonged to$4$ the class of those that$6#1$
115:163,33@a   | are sought, not those that$6#1$ seek.  He was no$2$ seeker.  He was not desirous.  He
115:163,34@a   | would never be desirous.  Desire should not lead him humbly by$4$ the nose.
115:163,35@a   | Not desire for$4$ anything.  He was of the few that$6#1$ are masters.  He was to$9$ be
115:163,36@a   | desired.  He was master.  He was a real Englishman.
115:163,37['  ]| So$3$ he jogged along in$4$ the hot, muggy day of early winter.  Heavy clouds
115:164,01['  ]| hung over the sky, lightning flashed beyond the purple hills. 
115:164,01@a   | His body was a
115:164,02@a   | burden and a weariness to$4$ him, riding was a burden and a weariness, the
115:164,03@a   | pack-horse was hell.  And Tom, asleep on$4$ his nag, like$4$ a dead thing, was
115:164,04@a   | hateful to$9$ have ahead.  The road seemed endless.
115:164,05['  ]| Yet he had in$4$ him his new, half savage pride to$9$ keep him up$5$, and an isolate
115:164,06['  ]| sort of resoluteness.
115:164,07['  ]| At mid-day they got down, drank water, camped, and slept without eating.
115:164,08@a   | Thank God, the rain had not come.  
115:164,08['  ]| Jack slept like$4$ the dead till four o'clock.
115:164,09['  ]| He woke sharp, wondering where he was.  
115:164,09@a   | The clouds looked threatening.
115:164,10@a   | He got up$5$.  Yes, the horses were there.  He still felt bruised, and hot and dry
115:164,11@a   | inside, from the Jamboree.  Why, in$4$ heavens, did men want Jamborees?
115:164,12['  ]| He made a fire, boiled the billy, prepared tea, and set out some food,
115:164,13['  ]| though he did not want any.
115:164,14[A  ]| "Get up$5$ there!"  
115:164,14['  ]| he shouted to$4$ Tom, who$6#1$ lay like$4$ a beast.
115:164,15[A  ]| "Get up$5$!"  
115:164,15['  ]| he shouted.  But the beast slept.
115:164,16[A  ]| "Get up$5$, you beast!"  
115:164,16['  ]| he said, viciously kicking him.  And he was horrified
115:164,17['  ]| because Tom got up$5$, without any show of retaliation at all, and obediently
115:164,18['  ]| drank his tea..
115:164,19['  ]| They ate a little food, in$4$ silence.  Saddled in$4$ silence, each finding the
115:164,20['  ]| thought of speech repulsive.  Watched one another to$9$ see if they were ready.
115:164,21['  ]| Mounted, and rode in$4$ repulsive silence away.  But Jack had left the pack-horse
115:164,22['  ]| to$4$ Tom this time.  And it began to$9$ rain, softly, seepily.
115:164,23['  ]| And Tom was cheering up$5$.  The rain seemed to$9$ revive him wonderfully.
115:164,24['  ]| He was one who$6#1$ was soon bowled over by$4$ a drink.  Consequently he did not
115:164,25['  ]| absorb much, and he recovered sooner.  Jack absorbed more, and it acted
115:164,26['  ]| much more slowly, deeply, and lastingly on$4$ him.  On$5$ they went, in$4$ the rain.
115:164,27['  ]| Tom began to$9$ show signs of new life.  He swore at the pack-horse.  He
115:164,28['  ]| kicked his nag to$4$ a little trot, and the packs flap-flapped like$4$ shut wings, on$4$
115:164,29['  ]| the rear pony.  Presently he reined up$5$, and sat quite still for$4$ a minute.  Then
115:164,30['  ]| he broke into a laugh, lifting his face to$4$ the rain.
115:164,31[H  ]| "Seems to$4$ me we are off the road," 
115:164,31['  ]| he said.  
115:164,31[H  ]| "We have not passed a fence all
115:164,32[H  ]| day, have we?"
115:164,33[A  ]| "No$7$," 
115:164,33['  ]| said Jack.  
115:164,33[A  ]| "But you were asleep all morning."
115:164,34[H  ]| "We are off the road.  Listen!"
115:164,35['  ]| The rain was seeping down on$4$ the bush; in$4$ the grey evening the warm
115:164,36['  ]| horses smelt of their own steam.  Jack could hear nothing except the wind
115:164,37['  ]| and the increasing rain.
115:164,38[A  ]| "This track must lead somewhere.  Let us get to$9$ shelter for$4$ the night," 
115:164,38['  ]| said
115:164,39['  ]| Jack.
115:164,40[H  ]| "Agreed!"  
115:164,40['  ]| replied Tom magnanimously.  
115:164,40[H  ]| "We will$1$ follow on$5$, and see what we
115:164,41[H  ]| shall see."
115:164,42['  ]| They walked slowly, pulling at the pack-horse, which$6#1$ was dragging at the
115:164,43['  ]| rope, tired with the burden that$6#1$ grew every minute heavier with the rain.
115:164,44['  ]| Tom reined in$5$ suddenly.
115:164,45[H  ]| "There is somebody behind," 
115:164,45['  ]| he said.  
115:164,45[H  ]| "It is \not\ the wind."
115:165,01['  ]| They sat there on$4$ their horses in$4$ the rain, and waited.  Twilight was falling.
115:165,02['  ]| Then Jack could distinguish the sound of a cart behind.  It was Rackett in$4$ the
115:165,03['  ]| old shay rolling along in$4$ the lonely dusk and rain, through the trees, approaching.
115:165,04['  ]| Black Sam grinned mightily as he pulled up$5$.
115:165,05[Q  ]| "Thought I would follow, though you are on$4$ the wrong road," 
115:165,05['  ]| said Rackett
115:165,06['  ]| from beneath his black waterproof.  
115:165,06[Q  ]| "Sam showed me the turning two miles
115:165,07[Q  ]| back.  You missed it.  Anyhow, we had better camp in$5$ on$4$ these people ahead
115:165,08[Q  ]| here."
115:165,09[A  ]| "Is there a place ahead?"  
115:165,09['  ]| asked Jack.
115:165,10[Q  ]| "Yes,"  
115:165,10['  ]| replied Rackett.  
115:165,10[Q  ]| "Even a sort of relation of yours, that$6#1$ I promised
115:165,11[Q  ]| Gran I would come and see.  Hence my following on$4$ your heels."
115:165,12[H  ]| "Did not know I had any relation hereabout," 
115:165,12['  ]| said Tom sulkily.  He could not
115:165,13['  ]| bear Rackett's interfering in$4$ the family in$4$ any way.
115:165,14[Q  ]| "You have not.  I meant Jack.  But we will$1$ get along, shall we?"
115:165,15[H  ]| "We are a big flood," 
115:165,15['  ]| remarked Tom.  
115:165,15[H  ]| "But if they will$1$ give us the barn, we will$1$
115:165,16[H  ]| manage.  It is getting wet to$9$ sleep out."
115:165,17['  ]| They pressed ahead, the pack-horse trotting, but lifting up$5$ his head like$4$ a
115:165,18['  ]| venomous snake, in$4$ unwillingness.  They had come into the open fields.  At
115:165,19['  ]| last in$4$ the falling dark they saw a house and buildings.  A man hove in$4$ sight,
115:165,20['  ]| but lurked away from them.  Rackett hailed him.  The man seemed to$9$ oppose
115:165,21['  ]| their coming further.  He was a hairy, queer figure, with his untrimmed
115:165,22['  ]| beard.
115:165,23[W  ]| "Master never takes no$2$ strangers," 
115:165,23['  ]| he said.
115:165,24['  ]| Rackett slipped a shilling in$4$ his hand, and 
115:165,24@q   | would he ask his master if they
115:165,25@q   | might camp in$4$ the barn, out of the rain.
115:165,26[W  ]| "You are not the police, now, by$4$ any manner of means?"  
115:165,26['  ]| asked the man.
115:165,27[Q  ]| "God love you, no$7$," 
115:165,27['  ]| said Rackett.
115:165,28[H  ]| "We are no$2$ police," 
115:165,28['  ]| said Tom.  
115:165,28[H  ]| "I am Tom*Ellis, from Wandoo, over York
115:165,29[H  ]| way."
115:165,30[W  ]| "Ellis:  I heared the name.  Well, master is sick, and skeered to$4$ death of the
115:165,31[W  ]| police.  They are ready to$9$ drop in$5$ on$4$ the place, that$6#2$ they are, rot them, the
115:165,32[W  ]| minute he breathes his last.  And he is skeered he is dying this time.  Oh, he is
115:165,33[W  ]| skeered ofti.  So$3$ I have me doubt of all strangers.  I have me doubts, no$2$ matter
115:165,34[W  ]| what they be.  Master he have sent a letter to$4$ his only relation upon$4$ earth, to$4$ his
115:165,35[W  ]| nephew, which$6#1$, thank the Lord, he has writ for$3$ to$9$ come and lay hold on$4$ the
115:165,36[W  ]| place, against he dies.  If there is no*one to$9$ lay hold, the police steps in$5$, without
115:165,37[W  ]| a word.  That$6#2$ is how they do it.  They lets the places in$4$ grants like$5$ ~~ lets a man
115:165,38[W  ]| have a grant ~~ and when the poor man dies, his place is locked up$5$ by$4$ the
115:165,39[W  ]| Government.  They takes it all."
115:165,40[H  ]| "Gawd's sake!"  
115:165,40['  ]| murmured Tom aside, 
115:165,40[H  ]| "the man is potty!"
115:165,41[Q  ]| "Bush mad," 
115:165,41['  ]| supplemented Rackett, who$6#1$ was sitting in$4$ the buggy with his
115:165,42['  ]| chin in$4$ his hand, intently listening to$4$ the queer, furtive, garrulous individual.
115:165,43[Q  ]| "Say, friend," 
115:165,43['  ]| he added aloud.  
115:165,43[Q  ]| "Go and ask your master if we harmless
115:165,44[Q  ]| strangers can camp in$4$ the barn out of the wet."
115:165,45[W  ]| "What might your names be, Mister?"  
115:165,45['  ]| asked the man.
115:166,01[Q  ]| "Mine is Dr*Rackett.  This is Tom*Ellis.  And this is Jack*Grant.  And no$2$ harm
115:166,02[Q  ]| in$4$ any of us."
115:166,03[W  ]| "Do you say Jack*Grant?  Would that$6#2$ be Mr*John*Grant?"  
115:166,03['  ]| asked the man,
115:166,04['  ]| galvanised by$4$ sudden excitement.
115:166,05[Q  ]| "None other!"  
115:166,05['  ]| said Rackett.
115:166,06[W  ]| "Then he has come!"  
115:166,06['  ]| cried the man.
115:166,07[Q  ]| "He certainly has," 
115:166,07['  ]| replied Rackett.
115:166,08[W  ]| "Oh, Glory, Glory!  Why did not ye say so$5#2$ afore?  Come in$5$. Come in$5$ all of ye,
115:166,09[W  ]| come in$5$!  Come in$5$, Mr*Grant!  Come in$5$!"
115:166,10['  ]| They got down, gave the reins to$4$ Sam, and were ready to$9$ follow the
115:166,11['  ]| bearded man, looking one another in$4$ the face in$4$ amazement, and shaking
115:166,12['  ]| their heads.
115:166,13[H  ]| "Gawd Almighty, I would rather keep out of this!"  
115:166,13['  ]| murmured Tom, standing
115:166,14['  ]| by$4$ his horse and keeping the rope of the pack-horse.
115:166,15[Q  ]| "Case of mistaken identity," 
115:166,15['  ]| said Rackett coolly.  
115:166,15[Q  ]| "Hang on$5$, boys.  We will$1$ get
115:166,16[Q  ]| a night's shelter."
115:166,17['  ]| A woman came out of the dilapidated stone house, clutching her hands in$4$
115:166,18['  ]| distress and agitation.
115:166,19[W  ]| "Missus!  Missus!  Here he is at last.  God be praised!"  
115:166,19['  ]| cried the bearded
115:166,20['  ]| man.  She ran up$5$ in$4$ sudden effusion of welcome, but he ordered her into the
115:166,21['  ]| house to$9$ brighten up$5$ the fire while he waved the way to$4$ the stables, knowing
115:166,22['  ]| that$3$ horse comes before man, in$4$ the bush.
115:166,23['  ]| When they had shaken down in$4$ the stable, they left Sam to$9$ sleep there,
115:166,24['  ]| while the three went across to$4$ the house.  Tom was most unwilling.
115:166,25['  ]| The man was at the door, to$9$ usher them in$5$.
115:166,26[W  ]| "I have broke the news to$4$ him, sir!"  
115:166,26['  ]| he said in$4$ a mysterious voice to$4$ Jack, as he
115:166,27['  ]| showed them into the parlour.
115:166,28[Q  ]| "What is your master's name?"  
115:166,28['  ]| asked Rackett.
115:166,29[W  ]| "Do not you know you are at your destination?"  
115:166,29['  ]| whispered the man.  
115:166,29[W  ]| "This is Mr*John*Grant's.
115:166,30[W  ]| This is the place you are looking for$4$."
115:166,31['  ]| A melancholy room!  The calico ceiling drooped, the window and front
115:166,32['  ]| door were hermetically sealed, an ornate glass lamp shone in$4$ murky, lonely
115:166,33['  ]| splendour upon$4$ a wool mat on$4$ a ricketty round table.  Six chairs stood against
115:166,34['  ]| the papered walls.  Nothing more.
115:166,35['  ]| Tom wanted to$9$ beat it back to$4$ the kitchen, through which$6#1$ they had passed
115:166,36['  ]| to$9$ get to$4$ this sarcophagus and where a fire was burning and a woman was
115:166,37['  ]| busy.  But the man was tapping at another door, and listening anxiously
115:166,38['  ]| before entering.
115:166,39['  ]| He went into the dark room beyond, where a candle shone feebly, and
115:166,40['  ]| they heard him say:
115:166,41[W  ]| "Your nephew has come, Mr*Grant, and brought a doctor and another
115:166,42[W  ]| gentleman, the Lord be praised."
115:166,43[R  ]| "The Lord do not need to$9$ be praised on$4$ my behalf, Amos," 
115:166,43['  ]| came a querulous
115:166,44['  ]| voice.  
115:166,44[R  ]| "And I have not got no$2$ nephew, if I \did\ send him a letter.  I have got
115:166,45[R  ]| nobody.  And I want no$2$ doctor, because I died when I left my mother's
115:167,01[R  ]| husband's house."
115:167,02[W  ]| "They are in$4$ the parlour."
115:167,03[R  ]| "Tell them to$9$ walk up$5$."
115:167,04['  ]| The man appeared in$4$ the doorway.  Rackett walked up$5$, Jack followed, and
115:167,05['  ]| Tom hung nervously and disgustedly in$4$ the rear.
115:167,06[W  ]| "Here they are!  Here is the gentry," 
115:167,06['  ]| said Amos.
115:167,07['  ]| In$4$ the candle-light they saw a thin man in$4$ a red flannel night-cap with a
115:167,08['  ]| blanket round his shoulders, sitting up$5$ in$4$ bed under an old green cart-umbrella.
115:167,09['  ]| He was not old, but his face was thin and wasted, and his long
115:167,10['  ]| colourless beard seemed papery.  He had cunning shifty eyes with red rims,
115:167,11['  ]| and looked as mad as his setting.
115:167,12['  ]| Rackett had shoved Jack forward.  The sick man stared at him and seemed
115:167,13['  ]| suddenly pleased.  He held out a thin hand.  Rackett nudged Jack, and Jack
115:167,14['  ]| had to$9$ shake.  The hand seemd wet and icy, and Jack shuddered.
115:167,15[A  ]| "How d'you do!"  
115:167,15['  ]| he mumbled.  
115:167,15[A  ]| "I am sorry, you know; I am not your
115:167,16[A  ]| nephew."
115:167,17[R  ]| "I know you are not.  But are you Jack*Grant?"
115:167,18[A  ]| "Yes," 
115:167,18['  ]| said Jack.
115:167,19['  ]| The man under the umbrella seemed hideously pleased.
115:167,20['  ]| Jack heard Tom's ill-suppressed, awful chuckle from behind.
115:167,21['  ]| The sick man peered irritably at the other two.  Then he nodded slowly,
115:167,22['  ]| under the green baldachino of the old cart-umbrella.
115:167,23[R  ]| "Jack*Grant!  Jack*Grant!  Jack*Grant!"  
115:167,23['  ]| he murmured to$4$ himself.  
115:167,23@a   | He was
115:167,24@a   | surely mad, obviously mad.
115:167,25[R  ]| "I am right glad you have come, cousin,"  
115:167,25['  ]| he said suddenly, looking again very
115:167,26['  ]| pleased.  
115:167,26[R  ]| "I am surely glad you have come in$4$ time.  I have a nice tidy place put
115:167,27[R  ]| together for$4$ you, Jack, a small proportion of three thousand acres, five
115:167,28[R  ]| hundred cleared and cropped, fifty fenced ~~ dog-leg fences, broke MacCullen's
115:167,29[R  ]| back putting them up$5$.  But I will$1$ willingly put in$5$ five hundred more for$4$ a
115:167,30[R  ]| gentleman like$4$ young master.  Meaning old master will$1$ soon be underground.
115:167,31[R  ]| Well, who$6#1$ cares, now young master has come to$4$ light, and the place
115:167,32[R  ]| does not go out of the family!  I am determined the place shall not go out of the
115:167,33[R  ]| family, Cousin*Jack.  Are not you pleased?"
115:167,34[A  ]| "Very," 
115:167,34['  ]| said Jack soothingly.
115:167,35[R  ]| "Call me Cousin*John.  Or Uncle*John, if you like$1$. I am more like$4$ your
115:167,36[R  ]| uncle, I should think.  Shake hands, and say, \right you are, Uncle*John\.  Call me
115:167,37[R  ]| Uncle*John."
115:167,38['  ]| Jack shook hands once more, and dutifully, as to$4$ a crazy person, he said:
115:167,39[A  ]| "Right you are, Uncle*John."
115:167,40['  ]| Tom, in$4$ the background, was going into convulsions.  But Rackett remained
115:167,41['  ]| quite serious.
115:167,42['  ]| Uncle*John closed his eyes, muttering, and fell back under the cart-umbrella.
115:167,43['  ]|
115:167,44[Q  ]| "Mr*Grant," 
115:167,44['  ]| said Dr*Rackett, 
115:167,44[Q  ]| "I think Jack would like$1$ to$9$ eat something
115:167,45[Q  ]| after his ride."
115:168,01[R  ]| "All right, let him go to$4$ the kitchen with yon buck wallaby as can not keep a
115:168,02[R  ]| straight face.  Stop with me a minute yourself, Mister, if you will$1$."
115:168,03['  ]| The two boys bundled away into the kitchen.  The woman had a meal
115:168,04['  ]| ready, and they sat down at the table.
115:168,05[H  ]| "I thank my stars," 
115:168,05['  ]| said Tom impressively, 
115:168,05[H  ]| "he is not \my\ Uncle*John."
115:168,06[A  ]| "Shut up$5$," 
115:168,06['  ]| said Jack, because the woman was there.
115:168,07['  ]| They ate heartily, the effects of the jamboree having passed.  After the
115:168,08['  ]| meal they strolled to$4$ the door to$9$ look out, away from that$6#2$ lugubrious parlour
115:168,09['  ]| and bedroom. They found a stiff wind blowing, the sky clear with running
115:168,10['  ]| clouds and vivid stars in$4$ the spaces.
115:168,11[H  ]| "Let us get!"  
115:168,11['  ]| said Tom.  It was his constant craving.
115:168,12[A  ]| "We can not leave Rackett."
115:168,13[H  ]| "We can.  He pushed us in$5$.  Let us get.  Why can not we?"
115:168,14[A  ]| "Oh, well, we can not," 
115:168,14['  ]| said Jack.
115:168,15['  ]| Rackett had entered the kitchen, and was eating his meal.  He asked the
115:168,16['  ]| woman for$4$ ink.
115:168,17[V  ]| "There is no$2$ ink," 
115:168,17['  ]| she said.
115:168,18[W  ]| "Must be somewhere," 
115:168,18['  ]| said Amos, her husband.  
115:168,18[W  ]| "Jack*Grant's letter was
115:168,19[W  ]| written in$4$ ink."
115:168,20[A  ]| "I never got a letter," 
115:168,20['  ]| said Jack, turning.
115:168,21[W  ]| "Eh, hark ye!  How like$4$ old master over again!  You have come, have not you?"
115:168,22[A  ]| "By$4$ accident," 
115:168,22['  ]| said Jack.  
115:168,22[A  ]| "I am not Mr*Grant's nephew."
115:168,23[W  ]| "Hark ye!  Hark ye!  It runs in$4$ the family, father to$4$ son, uncle to$4$ nephew.
115:168,24[W  ]| All right!  All right!  Have it your own way," 
115:168,24['  ]| cried Amos.  He had been
115:168,25['  ]| struggling with crazy contradictions too long.
115:168,26['  ]| Tom was in$4$ convulsions.  Rackett put his hand on$4$ Jack's shoulder.  
115:168,26[Q  ]| "It is all
115:168,27[Q  ]| right," 
115:168,27['  ]| he said.  
115:168,27[Q  ]| "Do not worry him.  Leave it to$4$ me."  
115:168,27['  ]| And to$4$ the woman he said,
115:168,28@q   | if there was no$2$ ink she was to$9$ kill a fowl and bring it to$4$ him, and he would make ink
115:168,29@q   | with lamp-black and gall.
115:168,30[Q  ]| "You two boys had better be off to$4$ bed," 
115:168,30['  ]| he said.  
115:168,30[Q  ]| "You have to$9$ be off in$4$
115:168,31[Q  ]| good time in$4$ the morning."
115:168,32[X  ]| "Oh, not going, not going so$5#1$ soon, surely.  The young master is not going so$5#1$
115:168,33[X  ]| soon!  Surely!  Surely!  Master is so$5#1$ weak in$4$ the head and stomach, we can not
115:168,34[X  ]| cope with him all by$4$ ourselves," 
115:168,34['  ]| cried the old man and woman.
115:168,35[Q  ]| "Perhaps I will$1$ stay," 
115:168,35['  ]| said Rackett.  
115:168,35[Q  ]| "And Jack will$1$ come back one day, do not
115:168,36[Q  ]| you worry.  Now, let me make that$6#2$ ink."
115:168,37['  ]| The boys were shown into a large, low room ~~ the fourth room of the
115:168,38['  ]| house ~~ that$6#1$ opened off the kitchen.  It contained a big bed with clean sheets
115:168,39['  ]| and white crochet quilt.  Jack surmised 
115:168,39@a   | it was the old couple's bed, 
115:168,39['  ]| and
115:168,40['  ]| wanted to$9$ go to$4$ the barn.  But Tom said, 
115:168,40@h   | since they offered it, there was
115:168,41@h   | nothing to$9$ do but to$9$ take it.
115:168,42['  ]| Tom was soon snoring.  Jack lay in$4$ the great feather bed feeling that$3$ life
115:168,43['  ]| was all going crazy.  Tom was already snoring.  He cared about nothing.  Out
115:168,44['  ]| of sight, out of mind.  But Jack had a fit of remembering.  His head was hot,
115:168,45['  ]| and he could not sleep.  The wind was blowing, it was raining again.  He could
115:169,01['  ]| not sleep, he had to$9$ remember.
115:169,02['  ]| It was always so$5#2$ with him.  He could go on$5$ careless and unheeding, like$4$
115:169,03['  ]| Tom, for$4$ a while.  Then came these fits of reckoning and remembering.  
115:169,03@a   | Life
115:169,04@a   | seemed unhinged in$4$ Australia.  In$4$ England there was a strong central pivot to$4$
115:169,05@a   | all the living.  But here the centre pin was gone, and the lives seemed to$9$ spin
115:169,06@a   | in$4$ a weird confusion.
115:169,07@a   | He felt that$6#2$ for$4$ himself.  His life was all unhinged.  What was he driving at?
115:169,08@a   | What was he making for$4$?  Where was he going?  What was his life, anyhow?
115:169,09@a   | In$4$ England, you knew.  You had your purpose.  You had your profession
115:169,10@a   | and your family and your country.  But out here you had no$2$ profession.  You
115:169,11@a   | did not do anything for$4$ your country except boast of it to$4$ strangers and leave
115:169,12@a   | it to$9$ get along as best it might.  And as for$4$ your family, you cared for$4$ that$6#2$, but
115:169,13@a   | in$4$ a queer, centreless fashion.
115:169,14@a   | You did not really care for$4$ anything.  The old impetus of civilisation kept
115:169,15@a   | you still going, but you were just rolling to$4$ rest.  As Mr*Ellis had rolled to$4$ rest,
115:169,16@a   | leaving everything stranded.  There was no$2$ grip, no$2$ hold.
115:169,17['  ]| And yet, what Jack had rebelled against in$4$ England was the tight grip, the
115:169,18['  ]| fixed hold over everything.  He liked this looseness and carelessness of
115:169,19['  ]| Australia.  Till it seemed to$4$ him crazy.  And then it scared him.
115:169,20['  ]| To-night everything seemed to$4$ him crazy.  He did not pay any serious
115:169,21['  ]| attention to$4$ Uncle*John*Grant:  he was obviously out of his mind.  But then
115:169,22['  ]| everything seemed crazy.  
115:169,22@a   | Mr*Ellis' death, and Gran's death, and Monica and
115:169,23@a   | Easu*Ellis ~~ it all seemed as crazy as crazy.  And the jamboree, and that$6#2$ girl
115:169,24@a   | who$6#1$ called him Dearie!  And the journey, and this mad house in$4$ the rain.
115:169,25@a   | What did it all mean?  What did it all stand for$4$?
115:169,26@a   | Everything seemed to$9$ be spinning to$4$ a darkness of death.  Everybody
115:169,27@a   | seemed to$9$ be dancing a crazy dance of death.  He could understand that$3$ the
115:169,28@a   | blacks painted themselves like$4$ white bone skeletons, and danced in$4$ the night
115:169,29@a   | like$4$ skeletons dancing, in$4$ their corroborees.  That$6#2$ was how it was.  The night,
115:169,30@a   | dark and fleshly, and skeletons dancing a clickety dry dance in$4$ it.
115:169,31@a   | Tom, so$5#1$ awfully upset at his father's death!  And now as careless as a lark,
115:169,32@a   | just spinning his way along the road, in$4$ a sort of weird dance, dancing
115:169,33@a   | humorously to$4$ the black verge of oblivion.  The children of death.  With a sort
115:169,34@a   | of horror of death around them.  Wandoo suddenly grim and grisly with the
115:169,35@a   | horror of death.
115:169,36@a   | Death, the great end and goal.  Death the black, void, pulsating reality
115:169,37@a   | which$6#1$ would swallow them all up$5$, like$4$ a black lover finally possessing them.
115:169,38@a   | The great black fleshliness of the end, the huge body of death reeling to$9$
115:169,39@a   | swallow them all.  And for$4$ this they danced, and for$4$ this they loved and
115:169,40@a   | reared families and made farms:  to$9$ provide good meat and white, pure
115:169,41@a   | bones for$4$ the black, avid horror of death.
115:169,42@a   | Something of the black, aboriginal horror came over him.  He realised, to$4$
115:169,43@a   | his amazement, the actuality of the great, grinning black demon of death.
115:169,44@a   | The vast infinite demon that$6#1$ eats our flesh and cracks our bones in$4$ the last
115:170,01@a   | black potency of the end.  And for$4$ this, for$4$ this demon one seeks for$4$ a
115:170,02@a   | woman, to$9$ lie with her and get children for$4$ the Moloch.  Children for$4$ the
115:170,03@a   | Moloch!  Lennie, Monica, the twins Og and Magog!  Children for$4$ the Moloch.
115:170,04@a   | One God or the other must take them at the end.  Either the dim white god
115:170,05@a   | of the heavenly infinite.  Or else the great black Moloch of the living death.
115:170,06@a   | Devoured and digested in$4$ the living death.
115:170,07@a   | Satan, Moloch, Death itself, all had been unreal to$4$ him before.  But now,
115:170,08@a   | suddenly, he seemed to$9$ see the black Moloch grinning huge in$4$ the sky, while
115:170,09@a   | human beings danced towards his grip, and He gripped and swallowed them
115:170,10@a   | into the black belly of death.  That$6#2$ was their end.
115:170,11@a   | Dance!  Dance!  Death has its deep delights!  and ever-recurring.  Be careless,
115:170,12@a   | ironical, stoical and reckless.  And go your way to$4$ death with a will$0$.  With
115:170,13@a   | a dark handsomeness and a dark lustre of fatality and a splendour of
115:170,14@a   | recklessness.  Oh, God, the Lords of Death!  The big, darkly-smiling, heroic
115:170,15@a   | men who$6#1$ are Lords of Death!  And they too go on$5$ splendidly towards death,
115:170,16@a   | the great goal of unutterable satisfaction, and consummated fear.
115:170,17@a   | "I am going my way the same," 
115:170,17['  ]| Jack thought to$4$ himself.  
115:170,17@a   | "I am travelling in$4$
115:170,18@a   | a reckless, slow dance, darker and darker, into the black, hot belly of death,
115:170,19@a   | where is my end.  Oh, let me go gallantly, let me have the black joy of the road.
115:170,20@a   | Let me go with courage and a bit of splendour and dark lustre, down to$4$ the
115:170,21@a   | great depths of death, that$6#1$ I am so$5#1$ frightened of, but which$6#1$ I long for$4$ in$4$ the
115:170,22@a   | last consummation.  Let death take me in$4$ a last black embrace.  Let me go on$5$
115:170,23@a   | as the niggers go, with the last convulsion into the last black embrace.  Since I
115:170,24@a   | am travelling the dark road, let me go in$4$ pride.  Let me be a Lord of Death,
115:170,25@a   | since the reign of the white Lords of Life, like$4$ my father, has become sterile
115:170,26@a   | and a futility.  Let me be a Lord of Death.  Let me go that$6#2$ other great road,
115:170,27@a   | that$6#1$ the blacks go."
115:170,28['  ]| The bed was soft and hot, and he stretched his arms fiercely.  
115:170,28@a   | If he had
115:170,29@a   | Monica!  Oh, if he had Monica!  If that$6#2$ girl last night had been Monica!
115:170,30@a   | That$6#2$ girl last night!  He did not even know her name.  She had stroked his
115:170,31@a   | head ~~ like$4$ ~~ like$4$ ~~ Mary!  
115:170,31['  ]| The association flashed into his mind.  
115:170,31@a   | Yes, like$4$
115:170,32@a   | Mary.  And Mary would be humble and caressive and protective like$4$ that$6#2$.  So$5#2$
115:170,33@a   | she would.  And dark!  It would be dark like$4$ that$6#2$ if one loved Mary.  And brief!
115:170,34@a   | Brief!  But sharp and good in$4$ the briefness.  Mary!  Mary!
115:170,35['  ]| He realised with amazement 
115:170,35@a   | it was Mary he was now wanting.  Not Monica.
115:170,36@a   | Or was it Monica?  Her slim keen hand.  Her slim body like$4$ a slim cat, so$5#1$ full of
115:170,37@a   | life.  Oh, it was Monica!  First and foremost, most intensely, it was Monica,
115:170,38@a   | because she was really his, and she was his destiny.  He dared not think of her.
115:170,39['  ]| He rolled in$4$ the bed in$4$ misery.  Tom slept unmoving.  
115:170,39@a   | Oh, why could not he
115:170,40@a   | be like$4$ Tom, slow and untormented.  Why could not he?  Why was his body
115:170,41@a   | tortured?  Why was he travelling this road?  Why was not Monica there like$4$ a
115:170,42@a   | gipsy with him?  Why was not Monica there?
115:170,43@a   | Or Mary!  Why was not Mary in$4$ the house?  She would be so$5#1$ soft and
115:170,44@a   | understanding, so$5#1$ yielding.  Like$4$ the girl of the long-armed man.  The long-armed
115:170,45@a   | man did not mind that$3$ he had taken his girl, for$4$ once.
115:171,01@a   | Why was he himself rolling there in$4$ torment?  Pug had advised him to$9$
115:171,02@w   | "punch the ball," 
115:171,02@a   | when he was taken with ideas he wanted to$9$ get rid of.  There
115:171,03@a   | was no$2$ ball to$9$ punch.  
115:171,03@w   | "Train the body hard, but train the mind hard too."
115:171,04@a   | Yes, all very well.  He could think, now for$4$ example, of fighting Easu, or of
115:171,05@a   | building up$5$ a place and raising fine horses.  But the moment his mind
115:171,06@a   | relaxed for$4$ sleep, back came the other black flame.  The women!  The
115:171,07@a   | women!  The women!  Even the girl of last night.
115:171,08@a   | What was a man born for$4$?  To$9$ find a mate, a woman, is not it?  Then why try
115:171,09@a   | to$9$ think of something else?  To$9$ have a woman ~~ to$9$ make a home for$4$ her ~~ to$9$
115:171,10@a   | have children.  And other women in$4$ the background, down the long, dusky,
115:171,11@a   | strange years towards death.  So$5#2$ it seemed to$4$ him.  And to$9$ fight the men that$6#1$
115:171,12@a   | stand in$4$ one's way.  To$9$ fight them.  Always a new one cropping up$5$, along the
115:171,13@a   | strange dusky road of the years, where you go with your head up$5$ and your
115:171,14@a   | eyes open and your spine sharp and electric, ready to$9$ fight your man and
115:171,15@a   | take your woman, on$5$ and on$5$ down the years, into the last black embrace of
115:171,16@a   | death.  Death that$6#1$ stands grinning with arms open and black breast ready.
115:171,17@a   | Death, like$4$ the last woman you embrace.  Death, like$4$ the last man you die
115:171,18@a   | fighting with.  And he beats you.  But somehow you are not beaten, if your are
115:171,19@a   | a Lord of Death.
115:171,20['  ]| Jack hoped he would die a violent death.  He hoped he would live a defiant,
115:171,21['  ]| unsubmissive life, and die a violent death.  
115:171,21@a   | A bullet, or a knife piercing home.
115:171,22@a   | And the women he left behind ~~ his women, enveloped in$4$ him as in$4$ a dark
115:171,23@a   | net.  And the children he left, laughing already at death.
115:171,24@a   | And himself!  He hoped never to$9$ be downcast, never to$9$ be melancholy,
115:171,25@a   | never to$9$ yield.  Never to$9$ yield.  To$9$ be a Lord of Death, and go on$5$ to$4$ the black
115:171,26@a   | arms of death, still laughing.  To$9$ laugh, and bide one's time, and leap at the
115:171,27@a   | right moment.
116:172,00[U  ]| <On the Road>
116:172,00[U  ]| <i>
116:172,01[H  ]| "My dear nephew, I have not sent you a letter since the last one which$6#1$ I
116:172,02[H  ]| never wrote, yet you have come in$4$ answer to$4$ the one you never got.
116:172,03[H  ]| I wrote because I wanted you to$9$ come and receive the property, and I never
116:172,04[H  ]| posted it because I did not know your address, and you could not come if I did,
116:172,05[H  ]| because you do not exist.  Yet here you are and I think you look very pleased to$9$
116:172,06[H  ]| receive the property which$6#1$ you have not got yet.  I was so$5#1$ afraid I should die
116:172,07[H  ]| sudden after this long lingering illness, but it is you who$6#1$ have come suddenly
116:172,08[H  ]| and the illness has not begun yet.  So$3$ here am I speechless, but you are doing a
116:172,09[H  ]| lot of talking to$4$ your dear uncle who$6#1$ never had a nephew.  What does it
116:172,10[H  ]| matter to$4$ me if you are Jack*Grant because I am not, but took the name into
116:172,11[H  ]| the grant of land given me on$4$ the land grant system at a shilling an acre.  So$3$,
116:172,12[H  ]| like$4$ a bad shilling, the name turns up$5$ again on$4$ the register, so$3$ that$3$ the land
116:172,13[H  ]| goes back to$4$ the grant, and the Grant to$4$ the land.  But a better-looking
116:172,14[H  ]| nephew I never wish to$9$ see, being as much like$4$ me as an ape is like$4$ meat.  So$3$
116:172,15[H  ]| when I am dead I will$1$ not be alive to$9$ trouble you, and I will$1$ trouble no$2$ further
116:172,16[H  ]| about you since you might as well be dead for$4$ all I care."
116:172,17['  ]| In$4$ this vein Tom ranted on$5$ the next morning, when they had set out in$4$ the
116:172,18['  ]| glorious early dawn.  Tom never wearied of the uncle under the umbrella.
116:172,19['  ]| He told the tale to$4$ everybody who$6#1$ would listen, and wore out Jack's ears with
116:172,20['  ]| these long and facile pleasantries.
116:172,21['  ]| They were both glad to$9$ get away from the crazy, lugubrious place.  Jack
116:172,22['  ]| refused to$9$ give it a thought further, though he felt vaguely, at the back of his
116:172,23['  ]| mind, that$3$ he knew something about it already.  Something somebody had
116:172,24['  ]| told him.
116:172,25['  ]| Rackett had stayed behind, so$3$ they made no$2$ very good pace, leading the
116:172,26['  ]| pack-horse.  But they pushed on$5$, being already overdue at the homestead of
116:172,27['  ]| one of Tom's aunts, who$6#1$ was expecting them.
116:172,28['  ]| Once on$4$ horseback and in$4$ the open morning, Jack wished for$4$ nothing
116:172,29['  ]| more.  Women, death, skeletons, the dance into the darkness, the future, the
116:172,30['  ]| past, love, home, and sorrow all disappeared in$4$ the bright well of the
116:172,31['  ]| daylight, as if they had dropped into a pool.  He wanted nothing more than to$9$
116:172,32['  ]| ride, to$9$ jog along the track on$4$ the rather wet road, through bush and scrub
116:172,33['  ]| still wet with rain, in$4$ a pure Westralian air that$6#1$ was like$4$ a clean beginning of
116:172,34['  ]| everything, seeing the tiny bushman's flowers sparking and gilding eerily in$4$
116:172,35['  ]| the dunness of the world.
116:172,36['  ]| By$4$ mid-day they reached the highway to$4$ Geraldton, via Gingin, and
116:172,37['  ]| camped at the Three-mile Government well in$4$ perfect good spirits.  Everything
116:173,01['  ]| was gone, everything was forgotten except the insouciance of the
116:173,02['  ]| moment.  They knew the uselessness of thinking and remembering and
116:173,03['  ]| worrying.  When worry starts biting like$4$ mosquitoes, then, if it bites hard
116:173,04['  ]| enough, you have \got\ to$9$ attend.  But it is like$4$ illness, avoid it, beat it back if you
116:173,05['  ]| can.
116:173,06['  ]| They found the high road merely a bush-track after all.  If it was near a
116:173,07['  ]| settlement, or allotments, or improved lands, it might run well for$4$ miles.  But,
116:173,08['  ]| for$4$ the most part, it was exceedingly bad, full of holes of water, and beginning
116:173,09['  ]| in$4$ places to$9$ be a bog.
116:173,10['  ]| Tom was now at his best, out in$4$ the bush again.  All his bush lore came back
116:173,11['  ]| to$4$ him, and he was like$4$ an animal in$4$ its native surroundings.  His charm came
116:173,12['  ]| back, too, and his confidence.  He went ahead looking keenly about, like$4$ a
116:173,13['  ]| travelling animal, pointing out to$4$ Jack first this thing and then the other,
116:173,14['  ]| initiating him into bush wisdom, teaching him the big cipher-book of the
116:173,15['  ]| bush.  And Jack learned gladly.  
116:173,15@a   | It was so$5#1$ good, so$5#1$ good to$9$ be away from
116:173,16@a   | homesteads, and women, and money, watching the trees and the land and
116:173,17@a   | the marks of wild life.  
116:173,17['  ]| And Tom, a talker once he was wound up$5$, told the
116:173,18['  ]| histories of the settlers, their failures and successes, and their peculiarities.  It
116:173,19['  ]| seemed to$4$ Jack 
116:173,19@a   | there was a surplus of weird people out there.  
116:173,19@h   | But, then, 
116:173,19['  ]| Tom
116:173,20['  ]| said, 
116:173,20@h   | the weird ones usually came first, and they got weirder in$4$ the wild.
116:173,21['  ]| They passed an enormous hollow tree, from which$6#1$ issued an old man with
116:173,22['  ]| a grey beard that$6#1$ came to$4$ his waist, dressed in$4$ rags.  A grey-haired, very
116:173,23['  ]| ragged woman also came out, carrying a baby.  Other children crawled
116:173,24['  ]| around.  The travellers called 
116:173,24[X  ]| Good-day!  
116:173,24['  ]| as they passed.
116:173,25['  ]| Tom said 
116:173,25@h   | the woman's baby was the youngest of seventeen children.  The
116:173,26@h   | eldest son was already grown up$5$, a prosperous young man trading in$4$ sandal*wood.
116:173,27@h   | But Dad and Mum liked the bush, and would accept nothing for$4$ their
116:173,28@h   | supposed welfare, either from their sons or anyone else.
116:173,29['  ]| In$4$ the middle of the afternoon they passed a sundowner trekking with a
116:173,30['  ]| cartful of produce down to$4$  Middle*Swan.  At four o'clock they camped for$4$
116:173,31['  ]| half an hour, to$9$ drink a billy of tea.  Before the water boiled they saw two
116:173,32['  ]| tramps coming down the road.  The slouchers came straight up$5$ and greeted
116:173,33['  ]| the boys, eyeing them curiously up$5$ and down.
116:173,34[W  ]| "Wot cheer, mate?"  
116:173,34['  ]| said one, a ruffianly mongrel.
116:173,35[H  ]| "Good O!  How is the goin' Gingin way?"  
116:173,35['  ]| asked Tom.
116:173,36[W  ]| "Plenty grass and water this time of the year.  But look out for$4$ the settlers
116:173,37[W  ]| this side.  They are not over hopeful."  
116:173,37['  ]| He turned to$9$ stare at Jack.  Then he
116:173,38['  ]| continued, to$4$ Tom:  
116:173,38[W  ]| "'Ow is it you got you baby out?"
116:173,39[H  ]| "New chum," 
116:173,39['  ]| explained Tom.  He spoke quietly, but his mouth had hardened.
116:173,40[H  ]| "You blokes want anything of us?"
116:173,41[W  ]| "Yessir," 
116:173,41['  ]| said the spokesman, coming in$5$ close.  
116:173,41[W  ]| "We wants bacca."
116:173,42[H  ]| "Do you?"  
116:173,42['  ]| said Tom pleasantly, and he pulled out his pouch.  
116:173,42[H  ]| "I have only got
116:173,43[H  ]| three plugs.  That$6#2$ is one apiece for$4$ me and the baby and you can have the other
116:173,44[H  ]| to$9$ do as you likes with.  But chum here does not keer much for$4$ smokin', so$3$ he
116:173,45[H  ]| might give you his."
116:174,01['  ]| There was a tone of finality in$4$ Tom's voice.
116:174,02[W  ]| "You have surely got more blasted cheek than most kids," 
116:174,02['  ]| said the fellow.
116:174,03[W  ]| "What have ye got planted away in$4$ your swags?"  
116:174,03['  ]| He glanced at his mate. 
116:174,03[W  ]| "We do not
116:174,04[W  ]| want to$9$ use no$2$ bally persuasion, does we, Bill?"
116:174,05['  ]| Bill was of villainous but not very imposing appearance.  He had weak eyes,
116:174,06['  ]| a dirty, hairy face, and a purple mouth showing unbecomingly through his
116:174,07['  ]| whiskers.
116:174,08['  ]| Tom calmly filled his pipe, and waving to$4$ the first tramp, gave him
116:174,09['  ]| sufficient to$9$ fill his cutty.  The fellow took it, ignoring his mate, and began to$9$
116:174,10['  ]| fill up$5$ eagerly.  He sat down by$4$ the fire and, taking a hot ember, lit up$5$,
116:174,11['  ]| puffing avidly.
116:174,12[A  ]| "The other can have my share, if he wants it," 
116:174,12['  ]| said Jack
116:174,13[W  ]| "Thank you kindly," 
116:174,13['  ]| said the other with a sneer.  And as he stuffed it in$4$ his
116:174,14['  ]| pipe:  
116:174,14[W  ]| "It will$1$ do for$4$ a start."  
116:174,14['  ]| But he was puffing almost before he could finish his
116:174,15['  ]| words.
116:174,16['  ]| They smoked in$4$ silence round the fire for$4$ some time.  Then Tom rose and
116:174,17['  ]| went over to$4$ the pack, as if he were going to$9$ give in$5$ to$4$ the ruffians.  One
116:174,18['  ]| swaggy rose and followed him.
116:174,19['  ]| The other tramp, taking not the slightest notice of the boy sitting there,
116:174,20['  ]| reached out his filthy hand and began to$9$ fill his pockets with everything that$6#1$
116:174,21['  ]| lay near the fire:  the packet of tea, a spoon, a knife.
116:174,22['  ]| He had got as far as the spoon when the astonished Jack said:  
116:174,22[A  ]| "Drop it!"  
116:174,22['  ]| as
116:174,23['  ]| if he were speaking to$4$ a dog.
116:174,24['  ]| The man turned with a snarl, and made to$9$ cuff him.  Jack seized his wrist
116:174,25['  ]| and twisted it cruelly, making him drop the spoon and shout with pain.  The
116:174,26['  ]| other swaggy at once ran on$4$ Jack from the rear, and fell over him.  Tom
116:174,27['  ]| rushed on$4$ the second swaggy and fell, too.  Over they all went in$4$ a heap.  Jack
116:174,28['  ]| laughed aloud in$4$ the scrimmage, as he gripped the swaggy's wrist with one
116:174,29['  ]| hand and with the other emptied out the contents of the pocket again.  He
116:174,30['  ]| brought out two knives, one which$6#1$ did not belong to$4$ him.  Dropping the lot for$4$
116:174,31['  ]| safety, he got to$4$ his feet.  Tom and the second swaggy were rolling and
116:174,32['  ]| unlocking.  That$6#2$ villain spied the open knife, seized it and sprang to$4$ his feet,
116:174,33['  ]| snarling and brandishing.
116:174,34[W  ]| "Come on$5$, you pair of ~~ "
116:174,35['  ]| Jack gave another twist of the wrist of the prisoner, who$6#1$ howled, and then
116:174,36['  ]| he kicked him three yards away.  But his heart smote him, for$3$ the kick was so$5#1$
116:174,37['  ]| bony, the tramp was thin and frail.  Then, full of the black joy of scattering
116:174,38['  ]| such wastrels, he sprang unexpectedly on$4$ the other tramp.  The swaggy gave
116:174,39['  ]| a yell, and fled.  For$4$ a minute or two the couple of ragged, wretched,
116:174,40['  ]| despicable figures could be seen bolting like$4$ running vermin down the trail.
116:174,41['  ]| Then they were out of sight.
116:174,42['  ]| Tom and Jack sat by$4$ the fire and roared with laughter, roared and roared
116:174,43['  ]| till the bush was startled.
116:174,44['  ]| They were just packing up$5$ when someone else came down the road.  It was
116:174,45['  ]| a young woman in$4$ a very wide skirt on$4$ a very small pony, riding as if she were
116:175,01['  ]| used to$4$ it.  This was not the figure they expected to$9$ see.
116:175,02[H  ]| "Why!"  
116:175,02['  ]| cried Tom, staring, 
116:175,02[H  ]| "I do believe it is Ma's niece grown up$5$."
116:175,03['  ]| It was.  She was quite pleasant, but her hands were stub-fingered and
116:175,04['  ]| work-hardened, and her voice was common.
116:175,05[V  ]| "You did not come along yesterday as Ma expected,"  
116:175,05['  ]| she explained, 
116:175,05[V  ]| "so$3$ I just
116:175,06[V  ]| took Tubby to$9$ see if you was coming to-day.  How is the twins?  How is Monica
116:175,07[V  ]| and Grace?  I do wish they would come."
116:175,08[H  ]| "They are all right," 
116:175,08['  ]| said Tom.
116:175,09[V  ]| "We heard about your Dad and your Gran.  Fancy!  But I wish Monica had
116:175,10[V  ]| come with you.  She was such a little demon at school.  I am fair longing to$9$ see
116:175,11[V  ]| her."
116:175,12[H  ]| "She is not the only one of you that$6#1$ is a demon!"  
116:175,12['  ]| said Tom, in$4$ the correct
116:175,13['  ]| tone of banter, putting over his horse and drawing to$4$ the girl's side and
116:175,14['  ]| becoming very manly for$4$ her benefit.  
116:175,14[H  ]| "And what is wrong with us, that$3$ you
116:175,15[H  ]| are not glad to$9$ see us?"
116:175,16[V  ]| "Oh, you are all right," 
116:175,16['  ]| said the cousin.  
116:175,16[V  ]| "But a girl of your own age is more
116:175,17[V  ]| fun, you know."
116:175,18[H  ]| "Well, I do not happen to$9$ be a girl of your own age," 
116:175,18['  ]| said Tom.  
116:175,18[H  ]| "Just by$4$
116:175,19[H  ]| accident, I am a man.  But, come on$5$.  There is some roughs about.  We might
116:175,20[H  ]| just as well get out of their way."
116:175,21['  ]| He trotted alongside the damsel, leaving Jack to$9$ bring the pack-horse.
116:175,22['  ]| Jack did not mind.
116:175,00[U  ]| <ii>
116:175,23['  ]| So$3$ they went on$5$, receiving a rough and generous hospitality from one or
116:175,24['  ]| another of Tom's or Jack's relations, of whom there were astonishingly
116:175,25['  ]| many, along the grand bush track to$4$ Geraldton.  If they were not direct
116:175,26['  ]| relations they were relations by$4$ marriage, and it served just as well.  There
116:175,27['  ]| were the Brockmans, there were the Browns, the Gales, and Davises, Edgars
116:175,28['  ]| and Conollys, Burgesses, Cooks, Logues, Cradles, Morrises, Fitzgeralds and
116:175,29['  ]| Glasses.  Families united by$4$ some fine-drawn connection or other; and very
116:175,30['  ]| often much more divided than united, by$4$ some very plain-drawn feud.
116:175,31['  ]| Their names like$4$ brooks trickled across the land, and you crossed and
116:175,32['  ]| re-crossed.  You would lose a name entirely:  like$4$ the Brockman name.  Then
116:175,33['  ]| suddenly it re-appeared as Brackman, and 
116:175,33[X  ]| "Oh, yes, we are cousins!"
116:175,34@a   | "Who$6#2$ is not cousin!" 
116:175,34['  ]| thought Jack.
116:175,35['  ]| Some of them had huge tracts of land fenced in$5$.  Some had little bits of
116:175,36['  ]| poor farms.  Sometimes there were deserted farms.
116:175,37[H  ]| "And to$9$ think," 
116:175,37['  ]| said Tom, 
116:175,37[H  ]| "that$3$ none of them is my \own\ mother's relations.
116:175,38[H  ]| All Dad's, or else Ma's.  Mostly Ma's."
116:175,39['  ]| It was queer the way he hankered after his own real mother.  Jack, for$4$ his
116:175,40['  ]| part, did not care a straw who$6#1$ was his mother's relation and who$6#1$ was not.  But
116:175,41['  ]| you would have thought Tom lived under a Matriarchy, and derived everything
116:176,01['  ]| from a lost mother.
116:176,02['  ]| It was not wet enough yet to$9$ be really boggy, though camping out was
116:176,03['  ]| damp.  However, they mostly got a roof.  If it was not a relation's, it was a barn,
116:176,04['  ]| or the "Bull*and*Horns" by$4$ Gingin.  And to$4$ the boys, all that$6#1$ mattered was
116:176,05['  ]| whether they were on$4$ the right road:  often a very puzzling question:  or if the
116:176,06['  ]| heavy rain would hold off:  if there was plenty of grub:  if the horses seemed
116:176,07['  ]| tired or not quite fit:  if they were going to$9$ get through a boggy place all right:
116:176,08['  ]| if the packs were fast:  if they made good going.  The inns were "low" in$4$ every
116:176,09['  ]| sense of the word, including the low-pitched roof.  And full of bed-bugs,
116:176,10['  ]| however new the country.  With red-nosed, grassy-whiskered landlords who$6#1$
116:176,11['  ]| thumbed the glasses when there were any glasses to$9$ thumb.  And there were
116:176,12['  ]| always men at these inns, almost always the same kind of brutal, empty
116:176,13['  ]| roughs.
116:176,14[A  ]| "Look here," 
116:176,14['  ]| said Jack, 
116:176,14[A  ]| "wherever we go there are these roughs, and more
116:176,15[A  ]| roughs, and more.  Where the devil do they come from, and how do they
116:176,16[A  ]|  make a living?  Apart from farm labourers, I mean."
116:176,17[H  ]| "A lot of them are shearers," 
116:176,17['  ]| said Tom, 
116:176,17[H  ]| "drifting from job to$4$ job, according
116:176,18[H  ]| to$4$ climate.  When shearing season is over here, they work on$5$ to$4$ the
116:176,19[H  ]| south-west, where it is cooler.  And then there are kangaroo and 'possum
116:176,20[H  ]| snarers.  That$6#2$ young fellow we saw rooked of all his sugar last night was a skin
116:176,21[H  ]| hunter.  They get half-a-crown apiece for$4$ good 'roo skins, and it is quite a
116:176,22[H  ]| trade.  The others last night were mostly sandal-wood getters.   There is quite a
116:176,23[H  ]| lot of men make money collecting bark for$4$ export, and manna-gum.  That$6#2$
116:176,24[H  ]| rowdy lot playing fifty-three were a gang of well-sinkers.  Then what with
116:176,25[H  ]| timber-workers, haulers, teamsters, junkers ~~ oh, there is all sorts.  But
116:176,26[H  ]| they are mostly one sort, swabs, rough and rowdy, and can not keep their pants
116:176,27[H  ]| hitched up$5$ enough to$9$ be decent. You have seen them.  They are mostly like$4$ the
116:176,28[H  ]| dirty old braces they wear.  All the snap gone out of them, all the elastic
116:176,29[H  ]| perished.  They just work and booze and loaf and work and booze.  I hope I will$1$
116:176,30[H  ]| never get so$3$ that$3$ I do not keep myself spruce.  I hope I never will$1$.  But that$6#2$ is the
116:176,31[H  ]| worst of the life out here.  Nobody hardly keeps spruce."
116:176,32['  ]| Jack kept this well in$4$ mind.  He, too, hated a man slouching along with a
116:176,33['  ]| discoloured face and trousers slopping down his insignificant legs.  He
116:176,34['  ]| loathed that$6#2$ look which$6#1$ tramps and ne'er-do-wells usually have, 
116:176,34@a   | as if their
116:176,35@a   | legs were not there, inside their beastly bags.  Despicable about the rear and
116:176,36@a   | the legs.  The best of the farmers, on$4$ the contrary, had strong, sinewy legs,
116:176,37@a   | full of life.  Easu was like$4$ that$6#2$, his powerful legs holding his horse.  And Tom
116:176,38@a   | had good, live legs.  But poor Dad had not been very alive, inside his pants.
116:176,39[A  ]| "Whatever I do, I will$1$ never go despicable and humiliated about the legs and
116:176,40[A  ]| seat," 
116:176,40['  ]| said Jack to$4$ himself, as he pressed the stirrups with his toes and he felt
116:176,41['  ]| the powerful elasticity of his thighs, holding the live body of the horse
116:176,42['  ]| between his muscles in$4$ permanent grip.  And it seemed as if the powerful
116:176,43['  ]| animal life of the horse entered into him, through his legs and seat, and
116:176,44['  ]| made him strong.
116:176,45[A  ]| "What is a junker, Tom?"
116:177,01[H  ]| "A low, four-wheeled log hauler, with a long pole."
116:177,02[A  ]| "I thought it was a man.  A swab is a man?"
116:177,03[H  ]| "Yes.  He is any old drunk."
116:177,04[A  ]| "But a swaggy is a tramp?"
116:177,05[H  ]| "It is.  It is one who$6#1$ humps it.  If he has got a pack, it is his swag.  If he has only got
116:177,06[H  ]| a blanket and a billy, it is his bluey and his drum.  And if he has got nothing it is
116:177,07[H  ]| Waltzing*Matilda."
116:177,08[A  ]| "I suppose so$5#2$," 
116:177,08['  ]| said Jack.  
116:177,08[A  ]| "And his money is his sugar?"
116:177,09[H  ]| "Right-O, son!"
116:177,10[A  ]| "And Chink is Chinaman?"
116:177,11[H  ]| "No$7$, sir.  That$6#2$ is Chow.  Chink means prison.  And a lag is a ticketer:  one
116:177,12[H  ]| who$6#1$ is out on$4$ lease.  Now, what more Child's Guide to$4$ Knowledge do you
116:177,13[H  ]| want?"
116:177,14[A  ]| "I am only getting it straight.  Jam and dog both mean ""side""?"
116:177,15[H  ]| "Verily.  Only dog is sometimes same as bully tinned meat."
116:177,16[A  ]| "And what is \stosh\?"
116:177,17[H  ]| "Landin' him one."
116:177,18['  ]| Jack rode on$5$, thinking about it.
116:177,19[A  ]| "What is a remittance man, really, Tom?"
116:177,20[H  ]| "A waster.  A useless bird shipped out here to$9$ be kept south of the line,
116:177,21[H  ]| because he is a disgrace to$4$ England.  And his family soothes their conscience
116:177,22[H  ]| by$4$ sending him so$5#1$ much a month, which$6#1$ they call his remittance, 'stead of
116:177,23[H  ]| letting him starve, or work.  Like$4$ Rackett.  Plenty of money sent out to$4$ him to$9$
116:177,24[H  ]| stink on$4$."
116:177,25[A  ]| "Why do not you like$1$ Rackett?"
116:177,26[H  ]| "I fairly despise him, and his money.  He is absolutely useless baggage,
116:177,27[H  ]| rotting life away.  I can not abear to$9$ see him about.  Old*George gave me the tip
116:177,28[H  ]| he was leaving our place, else I would never have gone and left him loose there."
116:177,29[A  ]| "He is no$2$ harm."
116:177,30[H  ]| "How do you know?  If he has not got a disease of the body, he has got a disease
116:177,31[H  ]| of the soul."
116:177,32[A  ]| "What disease?"
116:177,33[H  ]| "Dunno."
116:177,34[A  ]| "Does he take drugs?"
116:177,35[H  ]| "I reckon that$6#2$ is about his figure.  But he is an eyesore to$4$ me, loafin', loafin;.
116:177,36[H  ]| And he is an eyesore to$4$ Ma, save for$4$ the bit he teaches Lennie.  And when he
116:177,37[H  ]| starts talkin' on$4$ the high fiddle, like$3$ he does to$4$ Mary the minute she comes
116:177,38[H  ]| down, makes you want to$9$ walk on$4$ his face."
116:177,39@a   | Poor Rackett!  
116:177,39['  ]| Jack marvelled that$3$ Tom had always been so$5#1$ civil.
116:177,40['  ]| The two jogged along very amicably together.  Tom was hail-fellow well-met
116:177,41['  ]| with everybody.  At the same time, he was in$4$ his own estimation a
116:177,42['  ]| gentleman, and a person of consideration.  It was "thus far" with him.
116:177,43['  ]| But whoever came along, they all drew up$5$.
116:177,44[X  ]| "Hello, mate!  How is goin'?" ~~ "Well, so$5#1$ long!"
116:177,45['  ]| One youth was walking to$4$ Fremantle to$9$ take a job offered by$4$ his uncle,
116:178,01['  ]| serving in$4$ a grocery shop.  The lad was in$4$ tatters.  His blanket was tied with
116:178,02['  ]| twine, his battered billy hung on$5$ to$4$ it.  But he was jubilant.  And now he is one
116:178,03['  ]| of Australia's leading lights.  Even it is said of him that$3$ he never forgot the
116:178,04['  ]| kindness he received on$4$ the road.
116:178,05['  ]| But most of the trailers were sundowners, sloping along anyhow, subsisting
116:178,06['  ]| anyhow, but ready with the ingenious explanation that$3$ they "chopped a
116:178,07['  ]| bit," or "fenced a bit," or "trapped a bit."  Perhaps they never realised how
116:178,08['  ]| much bigger was the bit they loafed.
116:178,09['  ]| They were not bad.  The bad ones were the scoundrels down from the
116:178,10['  ]| Never-Never, emerging in$4$ their rags and moral degradation after years on$4$
116:178,11['  ]| the sheep runs or cattle stations, years of earnings spent in$4$ drink and squalid,
116:178,12['  ]| beastly debauchery.  Some were hoarding their cheques for$4$ coast-town consumption,
116:178,13['  ]| like$4$ the first two rogues, and cadging and stealing their way.
116:178,14['  ]| But then there were families driving to$4$ the nearest settlement to$9$ do a bit of
116:178,15['  ]| shopping, or visit their relations, or fetch the doctor to$9$ "fix up$5$ Teddy's little
116:178,16['  ]| leg."  Once there was a posse of mounted police, very important and gallant,
116:178,17['  ]| with horses champing and chains clinking.  They were out after a criminal
116:178,18['  ]| supposed to$9$ have been landed on$4$ the coast by$4$ a dago boat "from the other
116:178,19['  ]| side."  Then there was an occasional Minister of the Gospel, on$4$ a pony,
116:178,20['  ]| dressed in$4$ black.  Jack's heart always sank when he saw the black.  He decided
116:178,21['  ]| that$3$ priests should be white, or in$4$ orange robes, like$4$ the Buddhist priests he
116:178,22['  ]| had seen in$4$ Columbo, or in$4$ a good blue, like$4$ some nuns.
116:178,23['  ]| Gradually the road became a home:  more a home than any homestead.
116:178,24[H  ]| "Let us get!"  
116:178,24['  ]| was Tom's perpetual cry, when they were fixed up$5$ in$4$ the house
116:178,25['  ]| of some relations, or some inn.  He only felt happy on$4$ the road.  Sometimes
116:178,26['  ]| they went utterly lonely for$4$ many miles.  Sometimes they passed a deserted
116:178,27['  ]| habitation.  But there were always signs of life near a well.  And often there
116:178,28['  ]| were mile-stones.
116:178,29[A  ]| "Fifty-seven miles to$4$ where?"
116:178,30[H  ]| "I do not know.  We are leagues from Gingin.  Certainly fifty-seven miles to$4$
116:178,31[H  ]| nowhere of any importance on$4$ the face of this earth."
116:178,32[A  ]| "Wonder what Gingin means?"
116:178,33[H  ]| "Better not ask.  You never know what these natives will$1$ be naming places
116:178,34[H  ]| after.  Usually something vile.  But \gin\ means a woman, whatever Gingin is."
116:178,35['  ]| Gradually they got further and further, geographically, mentally, and
116:178,36['  ]| emotionally, from Wandoo and all permanent associations.  Jack was glad.
116:178,37['  ]| He loved the earth, the wild country, the bush, the scent.  He wanted to$9$ go on$5$
116:178,38['  ]| for*ever.  
116:178,38@a   | Beyond the settlements ~~ beyond the ploughed land ~~ beyond all
116:178,39@a   | fences.  That$6#2$ was it ~~ beyond all fences.  Beyond all fences, where a man was
116:178,40@a   | alone with himself and the untouched earth.
116:178,41['  ]| Man escaping from Man!  That$6#2$ is how it is all the time.  The passion men
116:178,42['  ]| have to$9$ escape from mankind.  What do they expect in$4$ the beyond?  God?
116:178,43['  ]| They will$1$ never find the same God!  Never again.  They are trying to$9$ escape
116:178,44['  ]| from the God men acknowledge, as well as from mankind, the acknowledger.
116:178,45['  ]|
116:179,01['  ]| The land untouched by$4$ man.  The call of the mysterious, vast, unoccupied
116:179,02['  ]| land.  The strange inaudible calling, like$4$ the far-off call of a kangaroo.  The
116:179,03['  ]| strange, still, pure air.  The strange shadows.  The strange scent of wild,
116:179,04['  ]| brown, aboriginal honey.
116:179,05['  ]| Being early for$4$ the boat, the boys camped for$4$ twenty-four hours in$4$ a
116:179,06['  ]| perfectly lonely place.  And in$4$ the utterly lonely evening Jack began craving
116:179,07['  ]| again:  for$4$ Monica, for$4$ a woman, for$4$ some object for$4$ his passion to$9$ settle on$4$.
116:179,08['  ]| And he knew again, as he had always known, that$3$ 
116:179,08@a   | nowhere is free, so$5#1$ long as
116:179,09@a   | man is passionate, desirous, yearning.  His only freedom is to$9$ find the object
116:179,10@a   | of his passion, and fulfil his desires and satisfy his yearning, as far as his life
116:179,11@a   | can succeed.  Or else, which$6#1$ is more difficult, to$9$ harden himself away from all
116:179,12@a   | desire and craving, to$9$ harden himself into pride, and refer himself to$4$ that$6#2$
116:179,13@a   | other God.
116:179,14@a   | Yes, in$4$ the wild bush, God seemed another God.  God seemed absolutely
116:179,15@a   | another God, vaster, more calm and more deeply, sensually potent.  And this
116:179,16@a   | was a profound satisfaction.  To$9$ find another, more terrible, but also more
116:179,17@a   | deeply-fulfilling God stirring subtly in$4$ the uncontaminated air about one.  A
116:179,18@a   | dread God.  But a great God, greater than any known.  The sense of greatness,
116:179,19@a   | vastness, and newness, in$4$ the air.  And the strange, dusky, grey
116:179,20@a   | eucalyptus-smelling sense of depth, strange depth in$4$ the air, as of a great
116:179,21@a   | deep well of potency, which$6#1$ life had not yet tapped.  Something which$6#1$ lay in$4$ a
116:179,22@a   | man's blood as well ~~ and in$4$ a woman's blood ~~ in$4$ Monica's ~~ in$4$ Mary's ~~ in$4$
116:179,23@a   | the Australian blood.  A strange, dusky, gum-smelling depth of potency that$6#1$
116:179,24@a   | had never been tapped by$4$ experience.  As if life still held great wells of
116:179,25@a   | reserve vitality, strange unknown wells of secret life-source, dusky, of a
116:179,26@a   | strange, dim, aromatic sap which$6#1$ had never stirred in$4$ the veins of man, to$4$
116:179,27@a   | consciousness and effect.  And if he could take Monica and set the dusky,
116:179,28@a   | secret, unknown sap flowing in$4$ himself and her, to$4$ some unopened life
116:179,29@a   | consciousness ~~ that$6#2$ was what he wanted.  Dimly, uneasily, painfully he
116:179,30@a   | realised it.
116:179,31['  ]| And then the bush began to$9$ frighten him, as if it would kill him, as it had
116:179,32['  ]| killed so$5#1$ much man-life before, killed it before the life in$4$ man had time to$9$
116:179,33['  ]| come to$4$ realisation.
116:179,34['  ]| He was glad when the road came down to$4$ the sea.  There, the great,
116:179,35['  ]| pale-blue, strange empty sea, on$4$ new shores with new strange sea-birds
116:179,36['  ]| flying, and strange rocks sticking up$5$, and strange blue distances up$4$ the
116:179,37['  ]| bending coast.  The sea that$6#1$ is always the same, always a relief, a vastness and
116:179,38['  ]| a soothing.  Coming out of the bush, and being a little afraid of the bush, he
116:179,39['  ]| loved the sea with an English passion.  It made him feel at home in$4$ the same
116:179,40['  ]| known infinite of space.
116:179,41['  ]| Especially on$4$ a windy day, when the track would curve down to$4$ a greeny-grey
116:179,42['  ]| opalescent sea that$6#1$ beat slowly on$4$ the red sands, like$4$ a dying grey bird
116:179,43['  ]| with white wing feathers.  And the reddish cliffs with sage-green growth of
116:179,44['  ]| herbs, stood almost like$4$ flesh.
116:179,45['  ]| Then the road went inland again, through a swamp, and to$4$ the bush.  To$9$
116:180,01['  ]| emerge next morning in$4$ the sun, upon$4$ a massive deep indigo ocean, infinite,
116:180,02['  ]| with pearl-clear horizon:  and in$4$ the nearness, emerald-green and white
116:180,03['  ]| flashing unspeakably bright on$4$ a pinkish shore, perfectly world-new.
116:180,04['  ]| They were nearing the journey's end.  Nearing the little port, and the ship,
116:180,05['  ]| and the world of men.
117:181,00[U  ]| <After Two Years>
117:181,00[U  ]| <i>
117:181,01['  ]| A sky with clouds of white and grey, and patches of blue.  A green sea
117:181,02['  ]| flecked with white, and shadowed golden brown.  On$4$ the horizon, the
117:181,03['  ]| sense of a great open void, like$4$ an open valve, as if the bivalve oyster of the
117:181,04['  ]| world, sea and sky, were open away westward, open into another infinity,
117:181,05['  ]| and the people on$4$ land, inside the oyster of the world, could look far out to$4$
117:181,06['  ]| the opening.
117:181,07['  ]| They could see the bulk of near islands.  Farther off, a tiny white sail
117:181,08['  ]| coming down fast on$4$ the fresh great seawind, emanating out of the north-west.
117:181,09['  ]| She seemed to$9$ be coming from the beyond, slipping into the slightly-open,
117:181,10['  ]| living oyster of our world.
117:181,11['  ]| The men on$4$ the wharf at Fremantle, watching her black hull emerge from
117:181,12['  ]| the flecked sea, as she sailed magically nearer, knew she would be a cattle-boat
117:181,13['  ]| coming in$5$ from the great Nor' west.  They watched her none the less.
117:181,14['  ]| As she hesitated, turning to$4$ the harbour, she was recognised as the old
117:181,15['  ]| fore-and-aft schooner "Venus"; though if Venus ever smelled like$4$ that$6#2$, we
117:181,16['  ]| pity her lovers.  Smell or not, she balanced nicely, and with a bit of mano*euvring
117:181,17['  ]| ebbed her delicate way up$4$ the wharf.
117:181,18['  ]| There they are!  There they are, Tom and Jack, though their own mothers
117:181,19['  ]| would not know them!  Looking terribly like$4$ their fellow-passengers:  stubby
117:181,20['  ]| beards, long hair, greasy dirty dungarees, and a general air of disreputable
117:181,21['  ]| outcasts.  But, no$2$ doubt, with cheques of some sort in$4$ their pockets.
117:181,22['  ]| Two years, nearer three years have gone by$5$, since they set out from
117:181,23['  ]| Wandoo.  It is more than three years since Jack landed fresh from England,
117:181,24['  ]| in$4$ this very Fremantle.  And he is so$5#1$ changed, he does not even trouble to$9$
117:181,25['  ]| remember.
117:181,26['  ]| They do not trouble to$9$ remember anything:  not yet.  Back in$4$ the Never-Never,
117:181,27['  ]| one by$4$ one the ties break, the emotional connections snap, memory
117:181,28['  ]| gives out, and you come undone.  Then, when you have come undone from
117:181,29['  ]| the great past, you drift in$4$ an unkempt nonchalance here and there, great
117:181,30['  ]| distances across the great hinterland country, and there is nothing but the
117:181,31['  ]| moment, the instantaneous moment.  If you are working your guts out, you
117:181,32['  ]| are working your guts out.  If you are rolling across for$4$ a drink, you are
117:181,33['  ]| rolling across for$4$ a drink.  If you are just getting into a fight with some lump
117:181,34['  ]| of a brute, you are just getting into a fight with some lump of a brute.  If you
117:181,35['  ]| are going to$9$ sleep in$4$ some low hole, you are going to$9$ sleep in$4$ some low hole.
117:181,36['  ]| And if you wake feeling dry and hot and hellish, why, you feel dry and hot
117:181,37['  ]| and hellish till you leave off feeling dry and hot and hellish.  There is no$2$ more
117:182,01['  ]| to$4$ it.  The same if you are sick.  You are just sick, and stubborn as hell, till your
117:182,02['  ]| stubbornness gets the better of your sickness.
117:182,03['  ]| There are words like$4$ home, Wandoo, England, mother, father, sister, but
117:182,04['  ]| they do not carry very well.  It is like$4$ a radio message that$6#1$ is so$5#1$ faint, so$5#1$ far off, it
117:182,05['  ]| makes no$2$ impression on$4$ you; even if you can hear it in$4$ a shadowy way. Such a
117:182,06['  ]| faint, unreal thing in$4$ the broadcast air.
117:182,07['  ]| You have moved outside the pale, the pale of civilisation, the pale of the
117:182,08['  ]| general human consciousness.  The human consciousness is a definitely
117:182,09['  ]| limited thing, even on$4$ the face of the earth.  You can move into regions
117:182,10['  ]| outside of it.  As in$4$ Australia.  The broadcasting of the vast human consciousness
117:182,11['  ]| can not get you.  You are beyond. And since the call can not get you, the
117:182,12['  ]| answer begins to$9$ die down inside yourself, you do not respond any more.  You
117:182,13['  ]| do not respond, and you do not correspond.
117:182,14['  ]| There is no$2$ past:  or if there is, it is so$5#1$ remote and ineffectual it can not work
117:182,15['  ]| on$4$ you at all.  And there is no$2$ future.  Why saddle yourself with such a spectre
117:182,16['  ]| as the future?  There is the moment.  You sweat, you rest, the bugs bite you,
117:182,17['  ]| you thirst, you drink, you think you are going to$9$ die, you do not care, and you
117:182,18['  ]| know you will$1$ not die, because a certain stubborness inside you keeps the
117:182,19['  ]| upper hand.
117:182,20['  ]| So$3$ you go on$5$.  If you have got no$2$ work, you either get a horse or you tramp it
117:182,21['  ]| off somewhere else.  You keep your eyes open that$3$ you do not get lost, or
117:182,22['  ]| stranded for$4$ water.  When you are damned, infernally and absolutely sick of
117:182,23['  ]| everything, you go to$9$ sleep.  And then if the bugs bite you, you are beyond
117:182,24['  ]| that$6#2$ too.
117:182,25['  ]| But at the bottom of yourself, somewhere, like$4$ a tiny seed, lies the knowledge
117:182,26['  ]| that$3$ you are going back in$4$ a while.  That$3$ all the unreal will$1$ become real
117:182,27['  ]| again, and this real will$1$ become unreal.  That$3$ all that$6#2$ stuff, home, mother,
117:182,28['  ]| responsibility, family, duty, etc%, it all will$1$ loom up$5$ again into actuality, and
117:182,29['  ]| this, this heat, this parchedness, this dirt, this mutton, these dying sheep,
117:182,30['  ]| these roving cattle that$6#1$ take the flies by$4$ the million, these burning tin
117:182,31['  ]| gold-camps ~~ all this will$1$ recede into the unreal, it will$1$ cease to$9$ be actual.
117:182,32['  ]| Some men decide never to$9$ go back, and they are the derelicts, the scare-crows
117:182,33['  ]| and the warning.  "Going back" was a problem in$4$ Jack's soul.  He did not
117:182,34['  ]| really want to$9$ go back.  All that$6#2$ which$6#1$ lay behind, society, homes, families, he
117:182,35['  ]| felt a deep hostility towards.  He did not want to$9$ go back.  He was like$4$ an
117:182,36['  ]| enemy, lurking outside the great camp of civilisation.  And he did not want to$9$
117:182,37['  ]| go into camp again.
117:182,38['  ]| Yet neither did he want to$9$ be a derelict.  A mere derelict he would never be,
117:182,39['  ]| though temporary derelicts both he and Tom were.  But he saw enough of
117:182,40['  ]| the real waster, the real out-and-out derelict, to$9$ know that$3$ this he would
117:182,41['  ]| never be.
117:182,42['  ]| No$7$, in$4$ the end he would go back to$4$ civilisation.  But the thought of
117:182,43['  ]| becoming a part of the civilised outfit was deeply repugnant to$4$ him.  Some
117:182,44['  ]| other queer hard resolve had formed in$4$ his soul.  Something gradually went
117:182,45['  ]| hard in$4$ the centre of him.  He could not yield himself any more.  The hard core
117:183,01['  ]| remained impregnable.
117:183,02['  ]| They had dutifully spent their year on$4$ the sheep-run Mr*George had sent
117:183,03['  ]| them to$4$.  But after that$6#2$, it was shift for$4$ yourself.  They had stuck at nothing.
117:183,04['  ]| Only they had stuck together.
117:183,05['  ]| They had cashed their cheques in$4$ many a well-known wooden "hotel" of
117:183,06['  ]| the far-away coast.  Oh, those wooden hotels with their uneasy verandahs,
117:183,07['  ]| flies, flies, flies, flies, flies, their rum or whiskey, their dirty glasses, their
117:183,08['  ]| flimsy partitions, their foul language, their bugs and dirt and desolation.
117:183,09['  ]| The brutal foul-mouthed desolation of them, with the horses switching their
117:183,10['  ]| tails at the hitching posts, the riders slowly soaking, staring at the blue heat,
117:183,11['  ]| the drought, the Never-Neverness of it, the unspeakable hot desolation.  And
117:183,12['  ]| evening coming, with men already drunk, already ripe for$4$ brawling, obscenity,
117:183,13['  ]| and swindling gambling.
117:183,14['  ]| The had gone away chequeless, mourning their chequelessness, back on$4$
117:183,15['  ]| their horses to$4$ the cable station.  Then following the droves miles and miles
117:183,16['  ]| through the tropical, or semi-tropical bush, and over the open country,
117:183,17['  ]| camping by$4$ water for$4$ a week at a time, and going on$5$.
117:183,18['  ]| Then they had chucked cattle, wasted their cheques, footed it for$4$ weary,
117:183,19['  ]| weary miles, like$4$ the swaggies they had so$5#1$ despised.  Clothes in$4$ rags, boots in$4$
117:183,20['  ]| holes, another job; away in$4$ out-back camps with horsemen prospectors, with
117:183,21['  ]| well-contractors; shepherding again, with utter wastrels of shepherds camping
117:183,22['  ]| along with them, chucking the job, chucking the blasted rich aristocratic
117:183,23['  ]| squatters with all their millions of acres and sheep and fence and blasted
117:183,24['  ]| outfit, all so$5#1$ dead bent on$4$ making money as quick as possible, all the
117:183,25['  ]| machinery of civilisation, as far as possible, starting to$9$ grind and squeak
117:183,26['  ]| there in$4$ the beyond.  They had gone off with well-sinkers, and laboured like$4$
117:183,27['  ]| navvies.  Chucked that$6#2$, taken the road, spent the night at mission stations,
117:183,28['  ]| watched the blacks being saved, and got to$4$ the mining camps.
117:183,29['  ]| Poor old Tom had got into deep waters.  Even now he more than thought
117:183,30['  ]| that$3$ he was legally married to$4$ a barmaid, far away back in$4$ the sublimest town
117:183,31['  ]| you can imagine, back there in$4$ the blasting heat which$6#1$ so$5#1$ often burns a man's
117:183,32['  ]| soul away even before it burns up$5$ his body.  It had burned a hole in$4$ Tom's
117:183,33['  ]| soul, in$4$ that$6#2$ town away back in$4$ the blasting heat, a town consisting of a score
117:183,34['  ]| or so$5#2$ of ready-made tin houses got up$5$ from the coast in$4$ pieces, and put
117:183,35['  ]| together by$4$ anybody that$6#1$ liked to$9$ try.  There they stood or staggered, the tin
117:183,36['  ]| ovens that$6#1$ men and women lived in$4$; houses leaning like$4$ drunken men
117:183,37['  ]| against stark tree-trunks, others looking strange and forlorn with some of
117:183,38['  ]| their parts missing, said parts being under the seas, or elsewhere mislaid.  But
117:183,39['  ]| the absence of one section of a wall did not spoil the house for$4$ habitation.  It
117:183,40['  ]| merely gave you a better view of the inside happenings.  Many of the tin
117:183,41['  ]| shacks were windowless, and even shutterless: square holes in$4$ the raw
117:183,42['  ]| corrugated erection.  One was entirely wall-less, and this was the pub.  It was
117:183,43['  ]| just a tin roof reared on$4$ saplings against an old tree, with a sacking screen
117:183,44['  ]| round the bar, through which$6#1$ sacking screen you saw the ghost of the
117:184,01['  ]| landlady and her clients, if you approached from the back.  The front view
117:184,02['  ]| was open.
117:184,03['  ]| Here sat the motionless landlady, in$4$ her cooking hot shade, dispensing her
117:184,04['  ]| indispensable grog, while her boss or husband rolled the barrels in$5$.  He had a
117:184,05['  ]| team with which$6#1$ he hauled up$5$ the indispensable from the coast.
117:184,06['  ]| The nice-mannered Miss*Snook took turns with her mamma in$4$ this palace
117:184,07['  ]| of Circe.  She was extremely "nice" in$4$ her manners, for$3$ the "boss" owned the
117:184,08['  ]| team, the pub, and the boarding-house at which$6#1$ you stayed so$5#1$ long as you
117:184,09['  ]| could pay the outrageous prices.  So$3$ Miss*Snook, never familiarized into
117:184,10['  ]| Lucy, for$3$ she would not allow it, oscillated between the closed oven of the
117:184,11['  ]| boarding-house and the open oven of the pub.
117:184,12['  ]| Father ~~ or the "boss" ~~ had been a barber in$4$ Sydney.  Now he cooked in$4$
117:184,13['  ]| the boarding-house, and drove the team.  "Mother" had been the high-born
117:184,14['  ]| daughter of a chemist; she had ruined all her prospects of continuing in$4$ the
117:184,15['  ]| eastern "swim" by$4$ running away with the barber, now called "boss."  However,
117:184,16['  ]| she took her decline in$4$ the social scale with dignity, and allowed no$2$
117:184,17['  ]| familiarities.  Her previous station helped her to$9$ keep up$5$ her prices.
117:184,18[V  ]| "We are not, you understand, Mr*Grant, a Provident concern, as some foot-sloggers
117:184,19[V  ]| seem to$9$ think us.  We are doing our best to$9$ provide for$4$ Lucy, against
117:184,20[V  ]| she wants to$9$ get married, or in$4$ case she does not."
117:184,21['  ]| She and Lucy did the washing and cleaning between them, but their
117:184,22['  ]| efforts were nominal.  Boss's cooking left everything to$9$ be desired.  The place
117:184,23['  ]| was a perfect paradise.
117:184,24[V  ]| "We know a gentleman when we see one, Mr*Grant, and we are not going to$9$
117:184,25[V  ]| throw our only child away on$4$ a penniless waster."
117:184,26['  ]| Jack wanted loudly to$9$ proclaim himself a penniless waster.  But Tom and
117:184,27['  ]| he had a pact, not to$9$ say \anything\ about themselves, or where they came from.
117:184,28['  ]| They were just "looking round."
117:184,29['  ]| And in$4$ that$6#2$ heat, the plump, perspiring, cotton-clad Lucy thought that$3$
117:184,30['  ]| Tom seemed more amenable than Jack.  Poor Tom seemed to$9$ fall for$4$ it, and
117:184,31['  ]| Jack had to$9$ look on$5$ in$4$ silent disgust.  There was even a ghastly, gruesome
117:184,32['  ]| wedding.  Neither of the boys could bear to$9$ think of it.  Even in$4$ the stupefaction
117:184,33['  ]| of that$6#2$ heat, when the brain seems to$9$ melt, and the will$0$ degenerates, and
117:184,34['  ]| nothing but the most rudimentary functions of the organism called man,
117:184,35['  ]| continue to$9$ function, even then a sense of shame overpowered them.  Tom
117:184,36['  ]| continued in$4$ the trance for$4$ about a week after his so-called marriage.  Then
117:184,37['  ]| he woke up$5$ from the welter of perspiration, rum, and Lucy in$4$ an amazed
117:184,38['  ]| horror, and the boys escaped.
117:184,39['  ]| The nightmare of this town ~~ it was called "Honeysuckle" ~~ was able to$9$
117:184,40['  ]| penetrate Tom's most nonchalant mood, even when he was hundreds of
117:184,41['  ]| trackless miles away.  The young men covered their tracks carefully.  The
117:184,42['  ]| Snooks knew nothing but their names.  But a name, alas, is a potent entity in$4$
117:184,43['  ]| the wilds.
117:184,44['  ]| They covered their tracks and disappeared again.  But even so$5#2$, an ancient
117:184,45['  ]| letter from Wandoo followed them to$4$ a well-digging camp.  It was from
117:185,01['  ]| Monica to$4$ Tom, but it did not seem to$9$ mean much to$4$ either boy.
117:185,02['  ]| For$4$ almost a year Tom and Jack had never written home.  There did not
117:185,03['  ]| seem any reason.  In$4$ his last letter, Tom, suddenly having some sort of qualm,
117:185,04['  ]| had sent his cheque to$4$ his maiden aunts in$4$ York, because he knew, now Gran
117:185,05['  ]| and Dad were gone, they would be in$4$ shallow water.  This off his conscience, he let
117:185,06['  ]| Wandoo go out of his mind and spirit.
117:185,07['  ]| But now wandered in$5$ a letter from Aunt*Lucy ~~ dreaded name!  It was a
117:185,08@v   | "thank you, my dear nephew," 
117:185,08['  ]| and went on$5$ to$9$ say that$3$ 
117:185,08@v   | though she would be
117:185,09@v   | the last to$9$ repeat things she hoped trouble was not hanging over Mrs*Ellis'
117:185,10@v   | head.
117:185,11['  ]| Tom looked at Jack.
117:185,12[A  ]| "We had best go back," 
117:185,12['  ]| said Jack, reading his eyes.
117:185,13[H  ]| "Seems like$4$ it."
117:185,14['  ]| So$3$ ~~~ the time had come.  The "freedom" was over.  They were going back.
117:185,15['  ]| They caught the old ship "Venus," going south with cattle.
117:185,16['  ]| To$9$ come back in$4$ body is not always to$9$ come back in$4$ mind and spirit.  When
117:185,17['  ]| Jack saw the white buildings of Fremantle he knew his soul was far from
117:185,18['  ]| Fremantle.  But nothing to$9$ be done.  The old ship bumped against the wharf,
117:185,19['  ]| and was tied up$5$.  Nothing to$9$ do but to$9$ step ashore.
117:185,20['  ]| They loafed off that$6#2$ ship with a gang of similar unkempt, unshaved,
117:185,21['  ]| greasy, scoundrelly returners.
117:185,22[W  ]| "Come and have a spot!"
117:185,23[W  ]| "What about it, Tom?"
117:185,24[H  ]| "You know I have not a bean above the couple of dollars to$9$ take me to$4$ Perth."
117:185,25[W  ]| "Oh, dry it up$5$," 
117:185,25['  ]| cried the mate.  
117:185,25[W  ]| "What you come ashore for$4$?  You are not goin'
117:185,26[W  ]| without a spot.  It is on$4$ me.  My shout."
117:185,27[H  ]| "Shout it back in$4$ Perth, then."
117:185,28[W  ]| "Wot will$1$ you have?"
117:185,29['  ]| And through the swing doors they went.
117:185,30[H  ]| "Best and bitter is mine."
117:185,00[U  ]| <ii>
117:185,31['  ]| Jack had not let himself be cleaned out entirely, as Tom had.  Tom seemed to$9$
117:185,32['  ]| \want\ to$9$ be absolutely stumped.  But Jack, with deeper sense of the world's
117:185,33['  ]| enmity, and his own need to$9$ hold his own against it, had posted a couple of
117:185,34['  ]| cheques to$4$ Lennie to$9$ hold for$4$ him.  Save for$4$ this he too was cleaned out.
117:185,35['  ]| The same little engine of the same little train of four years ago shrieked
117:185,36['  ]| her whistle.  The North-West crowd drifted noisily out of the hotel and down
117:185,37['  ]| the platform, packing into the third class compartment, in$4$ such positions as
117:185,38['  ]| happily to$9$ negotiate the spittoons.
117:185,39[A  ]| "Let us go forward," 
117:185,39['  ]| said Jack.  
117:185,39[A  ]| "We might as well have cushions, if we are not
117:185,40[A  ]| smoking."
117:185,41['  ]| And he drew Tom forwards along the train.  They were going to$9$ get into
117:186,01['  ]| another compartment, but seeing the looks of terror on$4$ the face of the
117:186,02['  ]| woman and little girl already there, they refrained and went farther.
117:186,03['  ]| Aggressively they entered another smoking compartment.  A couple of fat
117:186,04['  ]| tradesmen and a clergyman glowered at them.  One of the tradesmen pulled
117:186,05['  ]| out a handkerchief, shook it, and pretended to$9$ wipe his nose.  There was
117:186,06['  ]| perfume in$4$ the air.
117:186,07[H  ]| "Oh, my aunt!"  
117:186,07['  ]| said Tom, putting his hand on$4$ his stomach.  
117:186,07[H  ]| "Turns me
117:186,08[H  ]| right over."
117:186,09[A  ]| "What?"  
117:186,09['  ]| asked Jack.
117:186,10[H  ]| "All this smell of scent."
117:186,11['  ]| Jack grinned to$4$ himself.  But he was back in$4$ civilisation, and he involuntarily
117:186,12['  ]| stiffened.
117:186,13[H  ]| "Hello!  There is Sam*Ellis!"  
117:186,13['  ]| Tom leaned out of the door.  
117:186,13[H  ]| "Hello, Sam!
117:186,14[H  ]| How is things, eh?"
117:186,15['  ]| The young fellow addressed looked at Tom, grinned sicklily, and turned
117:186,16['  ]| away.  He did not know Tom from Adam.
117:186,17[H  ]| "Let us have another drink!"  
117:186,17['  ]| said Tom, flabbergasted, getting out of the
117:186,18['  ]| train.
117:186,19['  ]| Jack followed and they started down the platform, when the train jogged,
117:186,20['  ]| jerked, and began to$9$ pull away.  Instantly they ran for$4$ it, caught the rail of the
117:186,21['  ]| guard's van, and swung themselves in$5$.  The interior was empty, so$3$ they sat
117:186,22['  ]| down on$4$ the little boxes let in$4$ the side.  Then the two eyed each other
117:186,23['  ]| self-consciously, uncomfortably.  They felt uncomfortable and aware of
117:186,24['  ]| themselves all at once.
117:186,25[H  ]| "Of all the ol' sweeps!"  
117:186,25['  ]| said Tom.  
117:186,25[H  ]| "Tell you what, you look like$4$ a lumper,
117:186,26[H  ]| absolutely nothing but a lumper."
117:186,27[A  ]| "And what do you think you look like$4$, you distorted scavenger!"
117:186,28['  ]| Tom grinned uncomfortably.
117:186,29['  ]| They got out of the station at Perth without having paid any railway fare.
117:186,30['  ]| The first place they went to$4$ was Mr%*George's office.  Jack pushed Tom
117:186,31['  ]| through the door, and stood himself in$4$ the doorway fingering his greasy felt
117:186,32['  ]| hat.  Tom dropped his, picked it up$5$, hit it against his knee.
117:186,33['  ]| Mr*George, neat in$4$ pale grey suit and white waistcoat, glared at them
117:186,34['  ]| briefly.
117:186,35[C  ]| "Now then, my men, what can I do for$4$ you?"
117:186,36[H  ]| "Why ~~ " 
117:186,36['  ]| began Tom, grinning sheepishly.
117:186,37[C  ]| "Trouble about a mining right?  Mate stolen half your gold dust.  Want stake a
117:186,38[C  ]| claim on$4$ somebody else's reserve?  Come, out with it.  What do want me to$9$ do
117:186,39[C  ]| for$4$ you, man?"
117:186,40[H  ]| "Why ~~ " 
117:186,40['  ]| Tom began, more foolishly grinning than ever.  Mr*George
117:186,41['  ]| looked shrewdly at him then at Jack.  Then he sat back smiling.  
117:186,42[C  ]| "Well, if you are not a pair!"  
117:186,42['  ]| he said 
117:186,42[C  ]| "So$3$ it was mines for$4$ the last outfit?
117:186,43[C  ]| How did it go?"
117:186,44[H  ]| "About as slow as it could," 
117:186,44['  ]| said Tom.
117:186,45[C  ]| "So$3$ you have not come back millionaires?"  
117:186,45['  ]| said Mr*George, a little bit disappointed.
117:187,01[H  ]| "Come to$9$ ask for$4$ a fiver," 
117:187,01['  ]| said Tom.
117:187,02[C  ]| "You outcast!"  
117:187,02['  ]| said Mr*George.  
117:187,02[C  ]| "You had me, completely.  But look here,
117:187,03[C  ]| lads. I will$1$ stand you a fiver apiece if you will$1$ stop around Perth like$4$ that$6#2$ all morning,
117:187,04[C  ]| and nobody spots you."
117:187,05[H  ]| "Easy!"  
117:187,05['  ]| said Tom.
117:187,06[C  ]| "A bigger pair of blackguards I have seldom set eyes on$4$.  But you have dinner
117:187,07[C  ]| with me at the club to-night, I will$1$ hear all about you then.  Six-thirty sharp.  And
117:187,08[C  ]| then I will$1$ take you to$4$ the Government*House.  You can wear that$6#2$ evening suit in$4$
117:187,09[C  ]| the closet at my house, Jack, that$6#1$ you have left there all this time.  See you
117:187,10[C  ]| six-thirty then."
117:187,00[U  ]| <iii>
117:187,11['  ]| Dismissed, they bundled into the street.
117:187,12[A  ]| "Outcasts on$4$ the face value of us!"  
117:187,12['  ]| said Jack.
117:187,13['  ]| Tom stopped to$9$ roar with laughter, and bumped into a pedestrian.
117:187,14[W  ]| "Hold hard!  Keep a hand on$4$ the reins, can not you?"  
117:187,14['  ]| exclaimed the individual,
117:187,15['  ]| pushing Tom off.
117:187,16['  ]| Tom looked at him.  It was Jimmie*Short, another sort of cousin.
117:187,17[H  ]| "Stow it, Jimmie.  Do not you know me?"
117:187,18['  ]| Jimmie took him firmly by$4$ the coat lapels and pulled him into the gutter.
117:187,19[W  ]| "Of course I know you," 
117:187,19['  ]| said Jimmie in$4$ a conciliatory tone, as to$4$ a drunk.
117:187,20[W  ]| "Meet me in$4$ half an hour at the Miner's*Refuge, eh?  Three steps and a lurch
117:187,21[W  ]| and there you are!  Come, matey" ~~ 
117:187,21['  ]| this to$4$ Jack ~~ 
117:187,21[W  ]| "take hold of your pal's arm.  See
117:187,22[W  ]| you later."
117:187,23['  ]| Tom was weak with laughter at Jimmie's benevolent attitude.  They were
117:187,24['  ]| not recognised at all, as they lurched across the road.
117:187,25['  ]| They had a drink, and strolled down the long principal street of Perth,
117:187,26['  ]| looking in$5$ at the windows of all the shops, and in$4$ spite of the fact that$3$ they
117:187,27['  ]| had no$2$ money, buying each a silk handkerchief and a cake of scented soap.
117:187,28['  ]| The excitement of this over, they rolled away to$4$ the river-side, to$4$ the ferry.
117:187,29['  ]| Then again back into the town.
117:187,30['  ]| At the corner of the Freemason's*Hotel they saw Aunt*Matilda and Mary;
117:187,31['  ]| Aunt*Matilda huge in$4$ a tight-fitting, ruched dress of dark purple stuff, and
117:187,32['  ]| Mary in$4$ a black-and-white striped dress with a tight bodice and tight sleeves
117:187,33['  ]| with a little puff at the top, and a long skirt very full behind.  She wore also a
117:187,34['  ]| little black hat with a wing.  And Jack, with a wickedness brought with him out
117:187,35['  ]| of the North*West, would have liked to$9$ rip these stereotyped clothes and
117:187,36['  ]| corsets off her, and make her walk down Hay*Street \7in*puris*naturalibus\.  She
117:187,37['  ]| went so$5#1$ trim and exact behind the huge Mrs*Watson.  It would have been
117:187,38['  ]| good to$9$ unsheathe her.
117:187,39[H  ]| "Hello!"  
117:187,39['  ]| cried Tom.  
117:187,39[H  ]| "There is Aunt*Matilda.  We have struck it rich."
117:187,40['  ]| The two young blackguards followed slowly after the two women, close
117:188,01['  ]| behind them.  Mary carried a book, and was evidently making for$4$ the little
117:188,02['  ]| book-shop that$6#1$ had a lending library of newish books.
117:188,03[F  ]| "Well, Mary, while you go in$4$ there I will$1$ go and see if the chemist can not give
117:188,04[F  ]| me something for$4$ my breathing, for$3$ it is awful!"  
117:188,04['  ]| said Mrs*Watson, standing
117:188,05['  ]| and puffing before the book-shop.
117:188,06[B  ]| "Shall I come for$4$ you or you for$4$ me?"  
117:188,06['  ]| asked Mary.
117:188,07[F  ]| "I will$1$ sit and wait for$4$ you in$4$ Mr*Pusey's," 
117:188,07['  ]| panted Aunt*Matilda, and she
117:188,08['  ]| sailed forward again, after having glanced suspiciously backward at the two
117:188,09['  ]| ne'er-do-wells who$6#1$ were hesitating a few yard away.
117:188,10['  ]| Mary, with her black hair in$4$ a huge bun, her hat with a wing held on$5$ by$4$
117:188,11['  ]| steel pins, was gazing contemplatively into the window of the book-shop at
117:188,12['  ]| the newest books.  
117:188,12@z   | "The Book-lovers' Latest!"  
117:188,12['  ]| said a carboard announcement.
117:188,13['  ]|
117:188,14[H  ]| "Can not you help a poor chap, Miss?"   
117:188,14['  ]| said Tom, dropping his head and
117:188,15['  ]| edging near.
117:188,16['  ]| Mary started, looked frightened, glanced at the first tramp and then at the
117:188,17['  ]| second, in$4$ agitation, began to$9$ fumble for$4$ her purse, and dropped her book,
117:188,18['  ]| spilling the loose leaves.
117:188,19['  ]| Jack at once began to$9$ gather up$5$ the scattered pages of the book:  an
117:188,20['  ]| Anthony*Trollope novel.  Mary, with black kid-gloved fingers, was fumbling
117:188,21['  ]| in$4$ her purse for$4$ a penny.  Tom peeped into the purse.
117:188,22[H  ]| "Lend us the half a quid, Mary," 
117:188,22['  ]| he said.
117:188,23['  ]| She looked at his face, and a slow smile of amusement dawned in$4$ her eyes.
117:188,24[B  ]| "I should never have known you!"  
117:188,24['  ]| she said.
117:188,25['  ]| Then as Jack rose, shoving the leaves together in$4$ the book, she looked into
117:188,26['  ]| his blue eyes with her brown, queer shining eyes.
117:188,27['  ]| She held out her hand to$4$ him without saying a word, only looked into his
117:188,28['  ]| eyes with a look of shining meaning. Which$6#1$ made him grin sardonically
117:188,29['  ]| inside himself.  He shook hands with her silently.
117:188,30[B  ]| "You look something like$3$ you did after you had been fighting Easu*Ellis,"
117:188,31['  ]| she said.  
117:188,31[B  ]| "When are you going to$4$ Wandoo?"
117:188,32[H  ]| "To-morrow, I should think," 
117:188,32['  ]| said Tom.  
117:188,32[H  ]| "Everybody O%*K% down there?"
117:188,33[B  ]| "Oh, I think so$5#2$!"  
117:188,33['  ]| said Mary nervously.
117:188,34[F  ]| "What do you men want?"  
117:188,34['  ]| came a loud, panting voice, Aunt*Matilda
117:188,35['  ]| sailing up$5$, purple in$4$ the face
117:188,36[H  ]| "Lend us half a quid, Mary," 
117:188,36['  ]| murmured Tom, and hastily she handed it
117:188,37['  ]| over.  Jack had already commenced to$9$ beat a retreat.  Tom sloped away as the
117:188,38['  ]| large lady loomed near.
117:188,39[F  ]| "Beggars!"  
117:188,39['  ]| she panted.  
117:188,39[F  ]| "Are they begging?  How much ~~ how much did
117:188,40[F  ]| you give him?  The disgraceful ~~ !"
117:188,41[B  ]| "He made me give him half-a-sovereign, Aunt."
117:188,42['  ]| Mrs*Watson had to$9$ stagger into the shop for$4$ a chair.
117:188,43['  ]| The boys had a drink, and set off to$4$ the warehouse to$9$ look up$5$ Jack's box, in$4$
117:188,44['  ]| which$6#1$ were his white shirts and other forgotten garments.
117:188,45['  ]| Back in$4$ town, Jack felt a slow, sinister sense of oppression coming over
117:189,01['  ]| him, a sort of fear, as if he were not really free, as if something bad were
117:189,02['  ]| going to$9$ happen to$4$ him.
117:189,03[H  ]| "How am I going to$9$ get dressed to$9$ dine with Old*George to-night?"
117:189,04['  ]| grumbled the still careless Tom, who$6#1$ was again becoming tipsy.  
117:189,04[H  ]| "Wherever
117:189,05[H  ]| am I goin' to$9$ get a suit to$9$ sport?"
117:189,06[A  ]| "Oh, some of your relations will$1$ fix you up$5$."
117:189,07['  ]| Jack had an undefinable, uncomfortable feeling that$3$ 
117:189,07@a   | he might suddenly
117:189,08@a   | come upon$4$ Monica, and she might see him in$4$ this state.  He would not like$1$ the
117:189,09@a   | way she would look at him.  No$7$, he would not be looked at like$4$ that$6#2$, not for$4$ a
117:189,10@a   | hundred ponies.
117:189,11['  ]| They turned their backs on$4$ the beautiful river, with its Mount*Eliza
117:189,12['  ]| headland and wide sweeps and curves twinkling in$4$ the sun, and they walked
117:189,13['  ]| up$4$ William*Street looking for$4$ an adventure.
117:189,14['  ]| A man whom they knew from the north, in$4$ filthy denims, came out of a
117:189,15['  ]| boot-shop and hailed them.
117:189,16[W  ]| "Come and stop one on$4$ me, maties."
117:189,17[X  ]| "Righto!  But where is Lukey?  He stood us one this morning.  Seen him?"
117:189,18[W  ]| "Yes, I seen him ~~ but, 'arf a mo!"
117:189,19['  ]| Scottie turned into the pawbroker's, under the three balls, and the boys
117:189,20['  ]| followed.
117:189,21[W  ]| "If you see what you did not oughta see, keep your mouth shut."
117:189,22[A  ]| "As a dead crab," 
117:189,22['  ]| assented Jack.
117:189,23[W  ]| "Now, then, Uncle!  What will$1$ you advance on$4$ that$6#2$ pair of bran new boots I have
117:189,24[W  ]| just bought?"
117:189,25[W  ]| "Two bob."
117:189,26[W  ]| "Glory be.  And I just give twenty for$4$ them.  Ne' mind, gimme the ticket."
117:189,27['  ]| This transaction concluded, Jack wondered what he could pawn. He
117:189,28['  ]| pulled out a front tooth, beautifully set in$4$ a gold plate.  It had been a parting
117:189,29['  ]| finish to$4$ his colonial outfit, the original tooth having been lost in$4$ a football
117:189,30['  ]| scrum.
117:189,31[A  ]| "Father Abraham," 
117:189,31['  ]| he said, holding up$5$ the tooth, 
117:189,31[A  ]| "I am a gentleman
117:189,32[A  ]| whether I look it or not.  So$3$ is my friend, this gentleman.  He needs a dress suit
117:189,33[A  ]| for$4$ to-night, though you would not believe it.  He needs a first-class well-fitting
117:189,34[A  ]| dress suit for$4$ this evening."
117:189,35[W  ]| "I have first-class latest fashion gents' clothes upstairs.  But a suit like$4$ that$6#2$ is
117:189,36[W  ]| worth five pound to$4$ me."
117:189,37[H  ]| "Let me try the jacket on$5$."
117:189,38['  ]| Abraham was doubtful.  But at length Tom was hustled shamefacedly into
117:189,39['  ]| a rather large tail-coat.  It looked awful, but Jack said 
117:189,39@a   | it would do.  
117:189,39['  ]| The man
117:189,40['  ]| would not take a cent less than two quid deposit, and ten bob for$4$ the loan of 
117:189,41['  ]| the suit.  The boys said 
117:189,41@x   | they would call later.
117:189,42[A  ]| "What will$1$ you give me on$4$ this tooth?"  
117:189,42['  ]| asked Jack.  
117:189,42[A  ]| "There is not a more
117:189,43[A  ]| expensive tooth in$4$ Western*Australia."
117:189,44[W  ]| "I will$1$ lend you five bob on$4$ that$6#2$, pecos you amuth me."
117:189,45[A  ]| "And we will$1$ come in$5$ later for$4$ the dress suit.  Alright, Aaron.  Hang onto that$6#2$
117:190,01[A  ]| tooth, it is irreplaceable.  Treat it like$4$ a jewel.  Give me the five bob and the
117:190,02[A  ]| ticket."
117:190,03['  ]| In$4$ the Miner's*Refuge Jack flung himself down on$4$ a bench beside an
117:190,04['  ]| individual who$6#1$ looked tidy but smelt strongly of rum, and asked:
117:190,05[A  ]| "Say mate, where can you get a wash and a brush-up for$4$ two? ~~ local?"
117:190,06['  ]| The fellow got up$5$ and lurched surlily to$4$ the counter, refusing to$9$ answer.
117:190,07['  ]| Jack sat on$5$, while Tom drank beer, and a heavy depression crept over his
117:190,08['  ]| spirit.  He had been hobnobbing with riff-raff so$5#1$ long, it had almost become
117:190,09['  ]| second nature.  But now a sense of disgust and impending disaster came over
117:190,10['  ]| him.  He would soon have to$9$ make an angry effort, and get out.  He was
117:190,11['  ]| becoming angry with Tom, for$4$ sitting there so$5#1$ sloppily soaking beer, when
117:190,12['  ]| he knew his head was weak.
117:190,13['  ]| They began to$9$ eat sandwiches, hungrily standing at the bar.  Another
117:190,14['  ]| slipshod waster, eyeing the denim man as if he were a fish, sidled over to$4$ him
117:190,15['  ]| and muttered.
117:190,16[W  ]| "Sorry," 
117:190,16['  ]| said Scottie, with a mournful expression, pulling out the pawn-ticket,
117:190,17[W  ]| "I have just had to$9$ pawn me boots.  Can not be done."
117:190,18['  ]| Jack grinned.  The waster then came sloping over to$4$ him.
117:190,19[W  ]| "You axed me mate a civil question just now, lad, and I would have answered it for$4$
117:190,20[W  ]| him, but I just spotted a racin' pal of mine and was onter him to$9$ get a tip he had
117:190,21[W  ]| promised ~~ a dead cert for$4$ Belmont to-morrer.
117:190,22[W  ]| "You might have seen him lettin' me inter the know," 
117:190,22['  ]| he breathed.  
117:190,22[W  ]| "Hev' a
117:190,23[W  ]| drink, lad!"
117:190,24[A  ]| "Thanks!"  
117:190,24['  ]| said Jack.  
117:190,24[A  ]| "This is my mate.  I will$1$ take the shout, and one back, and
117:190,25[A  ]| then we must be off.  Going up$4$ country to-morrer morning."
117:190,26['  ]| This seemed to$9$ push the man's mind on$5$ quicker.
117:190,27[W  ]| "Just from up$4$ North, are not you?  Easy place to$9$ knock up$5$ a cheque.  How would you
117:190,28[W  ]| like$1$ to$9$ double a fiver?"
117:190,29[H  ]| "O%*K%," 
117:190,29['  ]| said Tom.
117:190,30[W  ]| "Well, here is a dead cert.  Take it from me, and do not let it past you.  I got it
117:190,31[W  ]| from a racin' pal wots in$4$ the know.  Not straight for$4$ the punters, maybe ~~ but
117:190,32[W  ]| straight as a die for$4$ me and my pals.  Double your money?  Not 'arf!  Multiply it by$4$
117:190,33[W  ]| ten.  It is a dead cert."
117:190,34[H  ]| "Name?"
117:190,35[W  ]| "Not so$5#1$ quick.  Not in$4$ 'ere.  Come outside, and I will$1$ whisper it to$4$ you."
117:190,36['  ]| Jack paid for$4$ the drinks, and winking warningly to$4$ Tom, followed the man
117:190,37['  ]| outside.
117:190,38[W  ]| "The name of the 'oss," 
117:190,38['  ]| the fellow said, 
117:190,38[W  ]| " ~~ but tell you wot, I will$1$ put you on$4$ the
117:190,39[W  ]| divvy with a book I know ~~ or you can come with me.  He keeps a paper-shop in$4$
117:190,40[W  ]| Hay*Street."
117:190,41[A  ]| "We do not know the name of the horse yet."
117:190,42[W  ]| "Comin' from up$4$ North you do not know the name of none of them, do you?
117:190,43[W  ]| He is a rank outsider.  You oughter get twenties on$4$ him."
117:190,44[H  ]| "We have only got a quid atween us," 
117:190,44['  ]| said Tom.
117:190,45[W  ]| "Well, that$6#2$ means a safe forty ~~ after the race."
117:190,46[H  ]| "Bob on$5$!"  
117:190,46['  ]| said Tom.  
117:190,46[H  ]| "Where is the book-shop?"
117:191,01[A  ]| "How can we go in$5$ and back a hoss without knowin' his name?"  
117:191,01['  ]| said Jack.
117:191,02[W  ]| "Oh, I will$1$ tip it you in$4$ 'ere."
117:191,03['  ]| They entered a small paper-shop, and the man said to$4$ the fellow behind
117:191,04['  ]| the counter:
117:191,05[W  ]| "These two gents is pals of mine.  How much did you say you would lay; mates?"
117:191,06[H  ]| "Out with the name of the hoss first," 
117:191,06['  ]| said Tom, confidentially.
117:191,07[W  ]| "This shop has changed hands lately," 
117:191,07['  ]| said the fat fellow behind the counter.
117:191,08[W  ]| "I do not make books.  Got no$2$ licence."
117:191,09['  ]| Did not that$6#2$ look straight?  But the boys were no$2$ greenhorns.  They walked
117:191,10['  ]| out of the shop again.
117:191,11['  ]| In$4$ the road the stranger said:
117:191,12[W  ]| "The name of the oss is Double*Bee.  If you will$1$ give me the money I will$1$ run
117:191,13[W  ]| upstairs 'ere to$4$ old Josh ~~ everyone knows him for$4$ a sound book."
117:191,14[A  ]| "The name of the hoss," 
117:191,14['  ]| said Jack, 
117:191,14[A  ]| "is Boots-two-Bob.  And a more cramblin'
117:191,15[A  ]| set of lies I never heard.  Get outter this, or I will$1$ knock your head off."
117:191,16['  ]| The fellow went off with a yellow look.
117:191,17[H  ]| "Gosh!"  
117:191,17['  ]| said Tom.  
117:191,17[H  ]| "We are back home right enough, what?"
117:191,18[A  ]| "9Bon*soir, as Frenchy used to$9$ say?"
117:191,19['  ]| Rolling a little dreamily along they saw Jimmie*Short standing on$4$ the
117:191,20['  ]| pavement watching them.
117:191,21[W  ]| "Hello, mates!"  
117:191,21['  ]| he said.  
117:191,21[W  ]| "Still going strong?"
117:191,22[H  ]| "Fireproof!"  
117:191,22['  ]| said Tom.
117:191,23[W  ]| "Remember barging into me this morning?  And my best girl was just
117:191,24[W  ]| coming round the corner with her Ma!  Had to$9$ mind my company, eh, boys?
117:191,25[W  ]| But come ad' have a drink now.  I seem to$9$ have seen you before to-day,
117:191,26[W  ]| have not I?  Where was it?"
117:191,27[H  ]| "Do not try and think," 
117:191,27['  ]| said Tom.  
117:191,27[H  ]| "You might do us out of a pony."
117:191,28[W  ]| "Right-o!  old gold dust!  Step over on$5$ to$4$ the Bar-parlour mat."
117:191,29[H  ]| "I am stepping," 
117:191,29['  ]| said Tom.  
117:191,29[H  ]| "And I am not drunk."
117:191,30[A  ]| "No$7$, he is not," 
117:191,30['  ]| said Jack.
117:191,31[W  ]| "You bet he is not," 
117:191,31['  ]| said Jimmy.  He was eyeing them curiously, as if his
117:191,32['  ]| memory pricked him.
117:191,33[H  ]| "My name," 
117:191,33['  ]| said Tom, 
117:191,33[H  ]| "is Ned*Kelly.  And if yours is not Jimmie*Miller,
117:191,34[H  ]| what is it?"
117:191,35[W  ]| "Why, it is Short.  Well, I give it up$5$.  I can not seem to$9$ lay my finger on$4$ you,
117:191,36[W  ]| Kelly."
117:191,37['  ]| Tom roared with laughter.
117:191,38[H  ]| "What time is it?"  
117:191,38['  ]| he asked.
117:191,39[W  ]| "Ten past twelve."
117:191,40[H  ]| "We have won a pony off Old*George!"  
117:191,40['  ]| said the delighted Tom.  
117:191,40[H  ]| "I am Tom*Ellis
117:191,41[H  ]| and he is Jack*Grant.  \Now\ do you know us, Jimmie?"
117:191,42['  ]| Jack was glad to$9$ get washed and barbered and dressed.  
117:191,42@a   | After all, he was
117:191,43@a   | sick of wasters and roughs.  They were stupider than respectable people, and
117:191,44@a   | much more offensive physically and morally.  To$4$ hell with them all.  He
117:191,45@a   | would not care if some tyrant would up$5$ and extirpate the breed.
117:191,46['  ]| Anyhow he stepped clean out of their company.
118:192,00[U  ]| <The Governor's Dance>
118:192,01['  ]| Three gentlemen in$4$ evening dress passing along by$4$ the low brick wall
118:192,02['  ]| skirting the Government*House.  One of the gentlemen portly and
118:192,03['  ]| correct, two of the gentlemen young, with burnt brown faces that$6#1$ showed a
118:192,04['  ]| little less tan below the shaving line, and limbs too strong and too rough to$9$ fit
118:192,05['  ]| the evening clothes.  Jack's suit was on$4$ the small side, though he had scarcely
118:192,06['  ]| grown in$4$ height.  But it showed a big piece of white shirt-cuff at the wrists,
118:192,07['  ]| and seemed to$9$ reveal the muscles of his shoulders unduly.  As for$4$ Tom's quite
118:192,08['  ]| good and quite expensive suit from the pawn-shop, it was a little large for$4$
118:192,09['  ]| him.  If he had not been so$5#1$ bursting with life it would have been sloppy.  But
118:192,10['  ]| the crude animal life came so$5#1$ forcibly through the black cloth, that$3$ you had
118:192,11['  ]| to$9$ overlook the anomaly of the clothes.  Both boys wore socks of fine scarlet
118:192,12['  ]| wool, and the new handkerchiefs of magenta silk inside their waistcoats.  The
118:192,13['  ]| scarlet, magenta, and red-brown of their faces made a gallant pizzicato of
118:192,14['  ]| colour against the black and white.  Anyhow, they fancied themselves, and
118:192,15['  ]| walked conceitedly.
118:192,16['  ]| Jack's face was a little amusing.  It had the kind of innocence and half-smile
118:192,17['  ]| you can see on$4$ the face of a young fox, which$6#1$ will$1$ snap holes in$4$ your hand if
118:192,18['  ]| you touch it.  He was annoyed by$4$ his father's letter to$4$ him for$4$ his twenty-first
118:192,19['  ]| birthday.  The general had retired, and had not saved a sou.  How could he,
118:192,20['  ]| given his happy, thriftless lady.  So$3$ it was a case of 
118:192,20[W  ]| "My dear boy, I am thankful
118:192,21[W  ]| you are at last twenty-one, because now you must look out for$4$ yourself.  I
118:192,22[W  ]| have bled myself to$9$ send you this cheque for$4$ a hundred pounds, but I know
118:192,23[W  ]| you think I ought to$9$ send you something so$3$ take it, but do not expect any
118:192,24[W  ]| more, for$3$ you will$1$ not get it if you do."
118:192,25['  ]| This was not really the text of the General's letter, but this was how Jack
118:192,26['  ]| read it.  As for$4$ his mother, she sent him six terrible neckties and awful
118:192,27['  ]| silver-backed brushes which$6#1$ he hated the sight of, much love, a few tears, a
118:192,28['  ]| bit of absurd fond counsel, and a general wind-up of tender doting which$6#1$
118:192,29['  ]| Jack felt was really meant, like$4$ the Harry*Smith letter, 
118:192,29@z   | "for$4$ 'appy Jack wot
118:192,30@z   | went up$4$ Cossack way."
118:192,31['  ]| He was annoyed, because he had expected some sort of real assistance in$4$
118:192,32['  ]| setting out like$4$ a gentleman on$4$ his life's career, now he had attained his
118:192,33['  ]| majority.  But the hundred quid was a substantial sop.
118:192,34['  ]| Mr*George had done them proud at the Weld*Club, and got them invitations
118:192,35['  ]| to$4$ the ball from the Private*Secretary.  Oh, yes, he was proud of them,
118:192,36['  ]| handsome upstanding young fellows.  So$3$ they were proud of themselves.  It
118:192,37['  ]| was a fine, hot evening, and nearly everybody was walking to$4$ the function,
118:193,01['  ]| showing off their splendour.  For$3$ few people possessed private carriages, and
118:193,02['  ]| the town boasted very few cabs indeed.
118:193,03['  ]| Mr*George waited in$4$ the porch of the Government*House for$4$ Aunt*Matilda
118:193,04['  ]| and Mary.  They had not long to$9$ wait before they saw the ladies in$4$
118:193,05['  ]| their shawls, carrying each a little holland bag with scarlet initials, containing
118:193,06['  ]| their dancing slippers, slowly and self-consciously mounting the steps.
118:193,07['  ]| The boys braced themselves to$9$ face the introduction to$4$ the Representation.
118:193,08['  ]| They were uneasy.  Also they wanted to$9$ grin.  In$4$ Jack's mind a picture of
118:193,09['  ]| Honeysuckle, that$6#2$ tintown in$4$ the heat, danced as on$4$ heat-waves, as he made
118:193,10['  ]| his bows and his murmurs.  He wanted to$9$ whisper to$4$ Tom:  
118:193,10[A  ]| "Are not we in$4$
118:193,11[A  ]| Honeysuckle?"  
118:193,11@a   | But it would have been too cruel.
118:193,12['  ]| Clutching their programmes as drowning men clutch straw, they passed
118:193,13['  ]| on$5$.  The primary ordeal was over.
118:193,14[H  ]| "Oh, Lord, I am sweating already,"  
118:193,14['  ]| said Tom with a red-faced grin.  
118:193,14[H  ]| "I am off
118:193,15[H  ]| to$9$ get me bill-head crammed."
118:193,16[A  ]| "Take me with you, for$4$ the Lord's sake," 
118:193,16['  ]| said Jack.
118:193,17[H  ]| "You are such an owl of a dancer.  And you have to$9$ do it proper here.  You go to$4$
118:193,18[H  ]| Mr*George."
118:193,19[A  ]| "Do not desert me, you swine."
118:193,20[H  ]| "Go on$5$!  Want me to$9$ take you back to$4$ Auntie?  Go on$5$!  I am goin' to$9$ dance and
118:193,21[H  ]| sit out and hold their little white hands."
118:193,22['  ]| Tom pulled a droll face as he took his place in$4$ the line of glove-buttoning
118:193,23['  ]| youths who$6#1$ made a queue on$4$ the Governor's left hand, where his daughter
118:193,24['  ]| stood booking up$5$ duty dances.  Jack, galvanised by$4$ the advent of the A%*D%*C%,
118:193,25['  ]| ducked through the crowd to$4$ Aunt*Matilda's side.
118:193,26['  ]| He was always angry that$3$ he could not dance.  The fact was, he would never
118:193,27['  ]| learn.  He could never bring himself to$9$ go hugging promiscuous girls round
118:193,28['  ]| the waist and twiddling through dances with them.  Underneath all his
118:193,29['  ]| carelessness and his appearance of "mixing," there was a savage physical
118:193,30['  ]| reserve which$6#1$ prevented his mixing at all.  He could not bear the least
118:193,31['  ]| physical intimacy.  Something inside him recoiled and stood savagely at a
118:193,32['  ]| distance, even from the prettiest girl, the moment she seemed to$9$ be "coming
118:193,33['  ]| on$5$."  To$9$ take the dear young things in$4$ his arms was repugnant to$4$ him, it
118:193,34['  ]| offended a certain aloof pride and a subtle arrogance in$4$ him.  Even with
118:193,35['  ]| Tom, intimate though they were, he always kept a certain unpassable space
118:193,36['  ]| around him, a definite \7noli*me*tangere\ distance which$6#1$ gave the limit to$4$ all
118:193,37['  ]| approach.  It would have been difficult to$9$ define this reserve.  Jack seemed
118:193,38['  ]| absolutely the most open and accessible individual in$4$ the world, a perfect
118:193,39['  ]| child.  He seemed to$9$ lay himself far too open to$4$ anybody's approach.  But
118:193,40['  ]| those who$6#1$ knew him better, like$4$ Mrs*Ellis or his mother, knew the cold
118:193,41['  ]| inward reserve, the savage unwillingness to$9$ be touched, which$6#1$ was central in$4$
118:193,42['  ]| him, as in$4$ a wolf-cub.  There was something reserved, fierce and untouched
118:193,43['  ]| at the very centre of him.  Something, at the centre of all his openness and his
118:193,44['  ]| seeming softness, that$6#1$ was cold, overbearing, and a little angry.  This was the
118:193,45['  ]| old overweening English blood in$4$ him, which$6#1$ would never really yield to$4$
118:194,01['  ]| promiscuity, or to$4$ vulgar intimacy.  He seemed to$9$ mix in$5$ with everybody at
118:194,02['  ]| random, but, as a matter of fact, he had never finally mixed in$5$ with anybody,
118:194,03['  ]| not even with his own father and mother, not even with Tom.  And certainly
118:194,04['  ]| not with any casual girl.  Essentially, he kept himself a stranger to$4$ everybody.
118:194,05['  ]| Aunt*Matilda was in$4$ green satin with a tiara of diamonds.  
118:194,05[A  ]| "The devil you
118:194,06[A  ]| know is better than the devil  you do not know," 
118:194,06['  ]| was Jack's inward comment as
118:194,07['  ]| he approached her.
118:194,08['  ]| Aloud he said:
118:194,09[A  ]| "Would it be right if I asked you to$9$ let me have the pleasure of taking you
118:194,10[A  ]| in$5$ to$4$ supper later, Marm?"
118:194,11[F  ]| "Oh, you dear boy!"  
118:194,11['  ]| simpered Aunt*Matilda, 
118:194,11[F  ]| "So$5#1$ like$4$ your dear father.  But,
118:194,12[F  ]| you see, I am engaged on$4$ these occasions.  We have to$9$ go in$4$ order of rank and
118:194,13[F  ]| precedence.  But you can take Mary.  She says she has hurt her foot and can not
118:194,14[F  ]| dance much."
118:194,15['  ]| Mary took his arm, and they went out on$5$ to$4$ the terrace.  There was clear
118:194,16['  ]| moonlight, and trees against a shadowy, green-blue sky, and a dark perfume
118:194,17['  ]| of tropical flowers.  Jack felt the beauty of it and it moved him.  He waited for$4$
118:194,18['  ]| his soul to$9$ melt.  But his soul would never melt.  It was hard and clear as the
118:194,19['  ]| moon itself.
118:194,20[A  ]| "It is much better here," 
118:194,20['  ]| he said, looking at the sky.
118:194,21[B  ]| "Oh, it is beautiful!"   
118:194,21['  ]| said Mary.  
118:194,21[B  ]| "I wanted so$5#1$ much to$9$ sit quietly and talk to$4$
118:194,22[B  ]| you.  It seems so$5#1$ long, and you looked so$5#1$ wild and different this morning.  I have
118:194,23[B  ]| been so$5#1$ frightened, reading so$5#1$ much about the natives murdering people."
118:194,24['  ]| Mary was different, too, but Jack did not know wherein.
118:194,25[A  ]| "I do not believe there is much more danger in$4$ one place than in$4$ another,"
118:194,26['  ]| he said.  
118:194,26[A  ]| "So$5#1$ long as you keep yourself in$4$ hand.  Shall we sit down and have a
118:194,27[A  ]| real wongie?"
118:194,28['  ]| They found a seat under the overspreading tree, and sat listening to$4$ the
118:194,29['  ]| night-insects.
118:194,30[B  ]| "You are not \very\ glad to$9$ be back, are you?"  
118:194,30['  ]| asked Mary.
118:194,31[A  ]| "Yes I am," 
118:194,31['  ]| he assented, without a great deal of vigour.  
118:194,31[A  ]| "What has been
118:194,32[A  ]| happening to$4$ you all this time, Mary?"
118:194,33[B  ]| "The little things that$6#1$ are nothing," 
118:194,33['  ]| she said.  
118:194,33[B  ]| "The only thing" ~~ 
118:194,33['  ]| she
118:194,34['  ]| hesitated ~~ 
118:194,34[B  ]| "is that$3$ they want me to$9$ marry.  And I lie awake at night wondering
118:194,35[B  ]| about it."
118:194,36[A  ]| "Marry who$6#2$?"  
118:194,36['  ]| asked Jack, his mind running at once to$4$ Rackett.
118:194,37['  ]| They were sitting under a magnolia tree.  Jack could make out the dark
118:194,38['  ]| shape of a great flower against the moon, among black leaves.  And the
118:194,39['  ]| perfume was magnolia flowers.
118:194,40[B  ]| "Do you want me to$9$ talk about it?"  
118:194,40['  ]| she said.
118:194,41[A  ]| "I do."
118:194,42['  ]| Jack was glancing rather fiercely down the slope of the black-and-white
118:194,43['  ]| garden, that$6#1$ sloped its lawns to$4$ the river.  Mary sat very still beside him, in$4$ a
118:194,44['  ]| cream lace dress.
118:194,45[B  ]| "It is a Mr*Boyd*Blessington.  He is a widower with five children, but he is an
118:195,01[B  ]| interesting man.  He has got a black beard."
118:195,02[A  ]| "Goodness!"  
118:195,02['  ]| said Jack.  
118:195,02[A  ]| "Have you accepted him?"
118:195,03[B  ]| "No$7$.  Not yet." 
118:195,04[A  ]| "Why do you think of marrying him?  Do you like$1$ him?"
118:195,05[B  ]| "For$4$ some things.  He is a good man, and he wants me in$4$ a good way.  He
118:195,06[B  ]| has a beautiful library.  And as he is a man of the world, there seems to$9$ be a
118:195,07[B  ]| big world round him. Yes, he is quite somebody.  And Aunt*Matilda says it is a
118:195,08[B  ]| wonderful opportunity for$4$ me.  And I know it is."
118:195,09['  ]| Jack mused in$4$ silence.
118:195,10[A  ]| "It may be," 
118:195,10['  ]| he said, 
118:195,10[A  ]| "but I hardly fancy you kissing a widower of fifty, with
118:195,11[A  ]| a black beard and five children.  Lord!"
118:195,12[B  ]| "He is only thirty-seven.  And he is a \man\."
118:195,13['  ]| Jack thought about Monica.  
118:195,13@a   | He wanted Monica.  But he also could not bear
118:195,14@a   | to$9$ let Mary go.  This arrogance in$4$ him made him silent for$4$ some moments.
118:195,15['  ]| Then he turned to$4$ Mary, his head erect, and looked down sternly on$4$ her
118:195,16['  ]| small, sinking figure in$4$ the pale lace dress.
118:195,17[A  ]| "Do you \want\ him?"  
118:195,17['  ]| he asked in$4$ a subtle tone of authority and passion.
118:195,18['  ]| Mary was silent for$4$ some moments.
118:195,19[B  ]| "No-o!"  
118:195,19['  ]| she faltered.  
118:195,19[B  ]| "Not ~~ not ~~ "
118:195,20@a   | Her hands lay inert in$4$ her lap.  They were small, soft, dusky hands.  The
118:195,21@a   | flame went over him, over his will$0$.  By$4$ some curious destiny she really
118:195,22@a   | belonged to$4$ him.  And Monica?  He wanted Monica too.  He wanted Monica
118:195,23@a   | first.  But Mary also was his.  Hard and savage he accepted this fact.
118:195,24['  ]| He took her two hands and lifted them to$4$ his lips, and kissed them with
118:195,25['  ]| strange, blind passion.  When the flame went over him, he was blind.  Mary
118:195,26['  ]| gave a little cry, but did not withdraw her hands.
118:195,27[A  ]| "I thought you cared for$4$ Rackett," 
118:195,27['  ]| he said suddenly, looking at her closely.
118:195,28['  ]| She shook her head, and he saw she was crying.
118:195,29['  ]| He put his arm round her and gathered her in$4$ her lace dress to$4$ his breast.
118:195,30@a   | She was small, but strangely heavy.  Not like$4$ that$6#2$ whip-wire of a Monica.  But
118:195,31@a   | he loved her heaviness, too.  The heaviness of a dark magnetic stone.  He
118:195,32@a   | wanted that$6#2$, too.
118:195,33['  ]| And in$4$ his mind he thought, 
118:195,33@a   | "Why can not I have her, too?  She is naturally
118:195,34@a   | mine."
118:195,35['  ]| His soul was hard and unbending.  
118:195,35[A  ]| "She is naturally mine!"  
118:195,35['  ]| he said to$4$
118:195,36['  ]| himself.  And he kissed her softly, softly, kissed her face and her tears.  And
118:195,37['  ]| all the while Mary knew about Monica.  And he, his soul fierce, would not
118:195,38['  ]| yield in$4$ either direction.  
118:195,38@a   | He wanted to$9$ marry her, and he wanted to$9$ marry
118:195,39@a   | Monica.  Something was in$4$ Mary that$6#1$ would never be appeased unless he
118:195,40@a   | married her.  And something in$4$ him would never be appeased unless he
118:195,41@a   | married Monica.  
118:195,41['  ]| His young, clear instinct saw both these facts.  And the
118:195,42['  ]| inward imperiousness of his nature rose to$9$ meet it.  
118:195,42[A  ]| "Why can not I have both
118:195,43[A  ]| these women?"  
118:195,43['  ]| he asked himself.  And his soul, hard in$4$ its temper like$4$ a
118:195,44['  ]| sword, answered him:  
118:195,44@a   | "You can if you will$1$."
118:195,45['  ]| Yet he was wary enough to$9$ know he must go cautiously.  Meanwhile,
118:196,01['  ]| determined that$3$ one day he would marry Monica and Mary both, he held the
118:196,02['  ]| girl soft and fast in$4$ his arms, kissing her, wanting her, but wanting her with
118:196,03['  ]| the slow knowledge that$3$ 
118:196,03@a   | he must wait and travel a long way before he could
118:196,04@a   | take her, yet take her he would.  He wanted Monica first.  But he also wanted
118:196,05@a   | Mary.  The soft, slow weight of her as she lay silent and unmoving in$4$ his arms.
118:196,06['  ]| They could hear the music inside.
118:196,07[B  ]| "I must go in$5$ for$4$ the next dance," 
118:196,07['  ]| she said in$4$ a muted tone.  He kissed her
118:196,08['  ]| mouth and released her.  Then he escorted her back to$4$ the ball-room.  She
118:196,09['  ]| went across to$4$ Aunt*Matilda, as the dance ended.  And in$4$ her lace dress, the
118:196,10['  ]| small, heavy, dusky Mary was like$4$ a lode-stone passing among flimsy people.
118:196,11['  ]| She had a certain magnetic heaviness of her own, and certain stubborn,
118:196,12['  ]| almost ugly kind of beauty which$6#1$ in$4$ its heavy quietness, seemed like$4$ a
118:196,13['  ]| darkish, perhaps bitter flower that$6#1$ rose from a very deep root.  You were
118:196,14['  ]| sensible of a deep root going down into the dark.
118:196,15['  ]| A tall, thin, rather, hollow-chested man in$4$ perfect evening suit and with
118:196,16['  ]| orders on$4$ his breast, was speaking to$4$ her.  He, too, had a faint air of proprietorship.
118:196,17['  ]| He had a black beard and eyeglasses.  But his face was sensitive,
118:196,18['  ]| and delicate in$4$ its desire.  It was evident he loved her with a real, though
118:196,19['  ]| rather social, uneasy desirous love, as if he wanted all her answer.  He was
118:196,20['  ]| really a nice man, a bit frail and sad.  Jack could see that$6#2$.  But he seemed to$9$
118:196,21['  ]| belong so$5#1$ entirely to$4$ the same world as the general, Jack's father.  He
118:196,22['  ]| belonged to$4$ the social world, and saw nothing really outside.
118:196,23['  ]| Mary, too, belonged almost entirely to$4$ the social world, her instinct was
118:196,24['  ]| strongly social.  But there was a wild tang in$4$ her.  And this Jack depended on$4$.
118:196,25['  ]| Somewhere deep in$4$ himself he hated his father's social world.  He stood in$4$
118:196,26['  ]| the doorway and watched her dancing with Blessington.  And he knew that$3$ as
118:196,27['  ]| Mrs*Blessington, with a thoughtful husband and a good position in$4$ society,
118:196,28['  ]| she would be well off.  She would forfeit that$6#2$ bit of a wild tang.
118:196,29['  ]| If Jack let her.  And he was not going to$9$ let her.  He was hard and cool inside
118:196,30['  ]| himself.  He took his impetus from the wild sap that$6#1$ still flows in$4$ most men's
118:196,31['  ]| veins, though they mostly choose to$9$ act from the tame sap.  He hated his
118:196,32['  ]| father's social sap.  He wanted the wild nature in$4$ people, the unfathomed
118:196,33['  ]| nature, to$9$ break into leaf again.  The real rebel, not the mere reactionary.
118:196,34['  ]| He hated the element of convention and slight smugness which$6#1$ showed in$4$
118:196,35['  ]| Mary's movements as she danced with the tall, thin reed of a  man.  Anything
118:196,36['  ]| can become a convention, even an unconventionality, even the frenzied jazzing
118:196,37['  ]| of the modern ballroom.  And then the same element of smugness, very
118:196,38['  ]| repulsive, is evident, evident even in$4$ the most scandalous jazzers.  This is
118:196,39['  ]| curious, that$3$ as soon as any movement becomes accepted in$4$ the public
118:196,40['  ]| consciousness, it becomes ugly and smug, unless it be saved by$4$ a touch of the
118:196,41['  ]| wild individuality.
118:196,42['  ]| And Mary dancing with Mr*Blessington was almost smug.  Only the downcast
118:196,43['  ]| look on$4$ her face showed that$3$ she remembered Jack.  Blessington himself
118:196,44['  ]| danced like$3$ a man neatly and efficiently performing his duty.
118:196,45['  ]| The dance ended.  Aunt*Matilda was fluttering her fan at him like$4$ a ruffled
118:197,01['  ]| cockatoo.  There was a group:  Mary, Blessington, Mr*George, Mr*James*Watson,
118:197,02['  ]| Aunt*Matilda's brother-in-law, and Aunt*Matilda.  Mr*Blessington,
118:197,03['  ]| with the quiet assurance of his class, managed to$9$ eclipse Mr*George and Jim*Watson
118:197,04['  ]| entirely, though Jim*Watson was a rich man.
118:197,05['  ]| Jack went over and was introduced.  Blessington and he bowed at one
118:197,06['  ]| another.  
118:197,06@a   | "Stay in$4$ your class, you monkey!"  
118:197,06['  ]| thought Jack, with some of the
118:197,07['  ]| sensual arrogance he had brought with him from the North-west.
118:197,08['  ]| Mr*Blessington introduced him to$4$ a thin, nervous girl, his daughter.  She
118:197,09['  ]| was evidently unhappy, and Jack was sorry for$4$ her.  He took her out for$4$
118:197,10['  ]| refreshments, and was kind to$4$ her.  She made dark-grey, startled round eyes
118:197,11['  ]| at him, and looked at him as if he were an incalculable animal that$6#1$ might bite.
118:197,12['  ]| And he, in$4$ manner, if not in$4$ actuality, laughed and caressed the frail young
118:197,13['  ]| thing to$9$ cajole some life into her.
118:197,14['  ]| Mary danced with Tom, and then with somebody else.  Jack lounged
118:197,15['  ]| about, watching with a set face that$6#1$ still looked innocent and amiable,
118:197,16['  ]| keeping a corner of his eye on$4$ Mary, but chatting with various people.  He
118:197,17['  ]| would not make a fool of himself, trying to$9$ dance.
118:197,18['  ]| When Mary was free again ~~ complaining of her foot ~~ he said to$4$ her:
118:197,19[A  ]| "Come outside a bit."
118:197,20['  ]| And obediently she came.  They went and sat under the same magnolia
118:197,21['  ]| tree.
118:197,22[A  ]| "He is not a bad fellow, your Blessington," 
118:197,22['  ]| he said.
118:197,23[B  ]| "He is not my Blessington," 
118:197,23['  ]| she replied.  
118:197,23[B  ]| "Not yet, anyhow.  And he never
118:197,24[B  ]| would be \really\ my Blessington."
118:197,25[A  ]| "You never know.  I suppose he is quite rich."
118:197,26[B  ]| "Do not be horrid to$4$ me."
118:197,27[A  ]| "Why not ~~ I wish I was rich.  I would do as I liked.  But you will$1$ never marry him."
118:197,28[B  ]| "Why shall not I?"
118:197,29[A  ]| "You just will$1$ not."
118:197,30[B  ]| "I shall if Aunt*Matilda makes me.  I am absolutely dependent on$4$ her ~~ and
118:197,31[B  ]| do you think I do not feel it?  I want to$9$ be free.  I should be much freer if I
118:197,32[B  ]| married Mr*Blessington.  I am tired of being as I am."
118:197,33[A  ]| "What would you really like$1$ to$9$ do?"
118:197,34['  ]| She was silent for$4$ a time.  Then she answered:
118:197,35[B  ]| "I should like$1$ to live on$4$ a farm."
118:197,36[A  ]| "Marry Tom," 
118:197,36['  ]| he said maliciously.
118:197,37[B  ]| "Why are you so$5#1$ horrid?"  
118:197,37['  ]| she said, in$4$ hurt surprise.
118:197,38['  ]| He was silent for$4$ a time.
118:197,39[A  ]| "Anyhow, you will$1$ not marry Boyd*Blessington."
118:197,40[B  ]| "Why are you so$5#1$ sure.  Aunt*Matilda is going to$4$ England in$4$ April.  And I
118:197,41[B  ]| will$1$ not travel with her.  Travel with \her\ would be unspeakable.  I want to$9$ stay in$4$
118:197,42[B  ]| Australia."
118:197,43[A  ]| "Marry Tom," 
118:197,43['  ]| he said again, in$4$ malice.
118:197,44[B  ]| "Why,"  
118:197,44['  ]| she asked in$4$ amazement, 
118:197,44[V  ]| "do you say that$6#2$ to$4$ me?"
118:197,45['  ]| But he did not know himself.
118:198,01[A  ]| "A farm" ~~ 
118:198,01['  ]| he was beginning, when a figure sailed up$5$ in$4$ the moonlight.  It
118:198,02['  ]| was Aunt*Matilda.  The two young people rose to$4$ their feet.  Jack was silent
118:198,03['  ]| and rather angry.  He wanted to curl his nose and say:  
118:198,03@a   | "It is not done, Marm!"
118:198,04['  ]| But he said nothing.  Aunt*Matilda did the talking.
118:198,05[F  ]| "I thought it was \your\ voices," 
118:198,05['  ]| she said coldly.  
118:198,05[F  ]| "Why do you make yourself
118:198,06[F  ]| conspicuous, Mary?  Mr*Blessington is looking for$4$ you in$4$ all the rooms."
118:198,07['  ]| Mary was led away.  Jack followed.  Aunt*Matilda had no$2$ sooner seen Mary
118:198,08['  ]| led out by$4$ Mr*Blessington for$4$ the Lancers, than she came full sail upon$4$ Jack,
118:198,09['  ]| as he stood lounging in$4$ the doorway.
118:198,10[F  ]| "Come for$4$ a little walk on$4$ the terrace, dear boy," 
118:198,10['  ]| she said.
118:198,11[A  ]| "Can not I have the pleasure of piloting you through this set of Lancers,
118:198,12[A  ]| Marm?"  
118:198,12['  ]| he retorted.
118:198,13['  ]| She stood and smiled at him fixedly.
118:198,14[F  ]| "I have heard of your dancing, dear boy," 
118:198,14['  ]| she said, 
118:198,14[F  ]| "and your father was a
118:198,15[F  ]| beautiful dancer.  This governor is very particular.  He sent his A%*D%*C% to$9$ stop
118:198,16[F  ]| Jimmy*Short reversing, right at the beginning of the evening."  
118:198,16['  ]| She eyed him
118:198,17['  ]| with a shrewd eye.
118:198,18[A  ]| "Surely worse form to$9$ hurt a gentleman's feelings, than to$9$ reverse,
118:198,19[A  ]| Marm!"  
118:198,19['  ]| retorted Jack.
118:198,20[F  ]| "It was not bad form, it was bad temper.  The Governor can not reverse
118:198,21[F  ]| himself.  Ha-ha-ha!  Neither can I go through a set of Lancers with you.  So$3$
118:198,22[F  ]| come and take me out a minute."
118:198,23['  ]| They went in$4$ silence down the terrace.
118:198,24[A  ]| "Lovely evening!  Not at all too hot,"  
118:198,24['  ]| he said.
118:198,25['  ]| She burst into a splutter of laughter.
118:198,26[F  ]| "Lor!  my dear.  You are amusin'!"  
118:198,26['  ]| she said.  
118:198,26[F  ]| "But you will$1$ not get out of it like$4$
118:198,27[F  ]| that$6#2$, young man.  What have you to$9$ say for$4$ yourself, running off with Mary like$4$ that$6#2$,
118:198,28[F  ]| \twice\!"
118:198,29[A  ]| "You told me I could take her, Marm."
118:198,30[F  ]| "I did not ask you to$9$ keep her out and get her talked about, my dear.  I am not
118:198,31[F  ]| a fool, my dear boy, and I am not going to$9$ let her lose the chance of a life-time.
118:198,32[F  ]| You want her yourself for$4$ \one night\!"  
118:198,32['  ]| She slapped her fan crossly.  
118:198,32[F  ]| "You leave
118:198,33[F  ]| well alone, we do not want \another\ scandal in$4$ the family.  Mr*Blessington is a
118:198,34[F  ]| good man for$4$ Mary, a God-send.  For$3$ she is heavy, she is heavy for$4$ any man to$9$
118:198,35[F  ]| take up$5$ with."  
118:198,35['  ]| Aunt*Matilda said this almost spitefully.  
118:198,35[F  ]| "Mr*Blessington is the
118:198,36[F  ]| very man for$4$ her, and a wonderful match.  She has got her family.  She is the
118:198,37[F  ]| granddaughter of Lord*Haworth.  And he has a position.  Besides, they are
118:198,38[F  ]| \suited\ for$4$ one another.  It is the very finger of Heaven.  Do not you dare make
118:198,39[F  ]| another scandal in$4$ the family."
118:198,40['  ]| She stopped under a lamp, and was leaning forward peering at him.  Her
118:198,41['  ]| large person exhaled a scent of artificial perfume.  Jack hated perfume,
118:198,42['  ]| especially in$4$ the open air.  And her face, with its powder and wrinkles, in$4$ the
118:198,43['  ]| mingled light of the lamp and the moon, made him think of a lizard.
118:198,44[F  ]| "Do you want Mary yourself?"  
118:198,44['  ]| she snapped, like$4$ a great lizard.  
118:198,44[F  ]| "It is out of
118:198,45[F  ]| the question.  You have got to$9$ make your way.  She would have to$9$ go on$5$ waiting for$4$
118:199,01[F  ]| years.  And you would compromise her."
118:199,02[A  ]| "God forbid!"  
118:199,02['  ]| said Jack ironically.
118:199,03[F  ]| "Then leave her alone," 
118:199,03['  ]| she said.  
118:199,03[F  ]| "If you compromise her, \I will$1$\ do no$2$ more
118:199,04[F  ]| for$4$ her, mind that$6#2$."
118:199,05[A  ]| "Just exactly what do you mean, compromise her?"  
118:199,05['  ]| he asked.
118:199,06[F  ]| "Get her talked about ~~ as you are trying to$9$ do," 
118:199,06['  ]| she snapped.
118:199,07['  ]| He thought it over.  
118:199,07@a   | He must, anyhow, appear to$9$ yield to$4$ circumstances.
118:199,08[A  ]| "All right," 
118:199,08['  ]| he said.  
118:199,08[A  ]| "I know what you mean."
118:199,09[F  ]| "See you do," 
118:199,09['  ]| she retorted.  
118:199,09[F  ]| "Now take me back to$4$ the ballroom."
118:199,10['  ]| They returned, in$4$ a silence that$6#1$ was safe, if not golden.  He was inwardly
118:199,11['  ]| more set than ever.  His appearance, however, was calm and innocent.  She
118:199,12['  ]| was much more ruffled.  She wondered 
118:199,12@f   | if she had said too much or too little,
118:199,13@f   | if he were merely stupid, or really dangerous.
118:199,14['  ]| He politely steered a way back to$4$ the reception room, placed her in$4$ a chair
118:199,15['  ]| and turned to$9$ disappear.  One thing he could not stand, and that$6#2$ was her
118:199,16['  ]| proximity.
118:199,17['  ]| But as she sat down, she clutched his sleeve, cackling her unendurable
118:199,18['  ]| laugh.
118:199,19[F  ]| "Sit down then," 
118:199,19['  ]| she said.  
118:199,19[F  ]| "We are friends now, are not we?"  
118:199,19['  ]| And she tapped
118:199,20['  ]| his tanned cheek, that$6#1$ still had a bit of the peach-look, with her feathery black
118:199,21['  ]| fan.
118:199,22[A  ]| "On$4$ the contrary, Marm,"  
118:199,22['  ]| he said, bowing but not taking a seat.
118:199,23[F  ]| "Lor', but you are an amusin' boy, my dear!"  
118:199,23['  ]| she said, and she let go his
118:199,24['  ]| sleeve as she turned to$9$ survey the field.
118:199,25['  ]| In$4$ that$6#2$ instant he slipped away from her disagreable presence.
118:199,26['  ]| He slipped behind a stout judge from Melbourne, then past a plumed
118:199,27['  ]| woman, apparently of fashion, and was gone.
118:199,28@a   | What he had to$9$ do was to$9$ reconnoitre his own position.  He wanted Monica
118:199,29@a   | first.  That$6#2$ was his fixed determination.  But he was not going to$9$ let go of
118:199,30@a   | Mary either.  Not in$4$ spite of battalions of Aunt*Matildas, or correct social
118:199,31@a   | individuals.  It was a battle.
118:199,32@a   | But he had to$9$ gauge Mary's disposition.  He saw how much she was a social
118:199,33@a   | thing; how much, even, she was Lord*Haworth's grand-daughter.  And how
118:199,34@a   | little she was that$6#2$ other thing.
118:199,35@a   | But it was a battle, a long, slow, subtle battle.  And he loved a fight, even a
118:199,36@a   | long, invisible one.
118:199,37['  ]| In$4$ the ball-room the A%*D%*C% pounced on$4$ him.
118:199,38['  ]| When he was free again, he looked round for$4$ Mary.  It was the sixteenth
118:199,39['  ]| dance, and she was being well nursed.  When the dance was over, he went
118:199,40['  ]| calmly and sat between her and Aunt*Matilda, on$4$ a red gilt sofa.  Things were
118:199,41['  ]| a little stiff.  Even Mary was stiff.
118:199,42['  ]| He looked at her programme.  The next dance was a polka, and she was not
118:199,43['  ]| engaged.
118:199,44[A  ]| "You are free for$4$ this dance?"  
118:199,44['  ]| he said.
118:199,45[B  ]| "Yes, because of my foot," 
118:199,45['  ]| she said firmly.  He could see she too was on$4$
118:200,01['  ]| Aunt*Matilda's side for$4$ the moment.
118:200,02[A  ]| "I can dance a polka.  Come and dance with me," 
118:200,02['  ]| he said.
118:200,03[B  ]| "And my foot?"
118:200,04['  ]| He did not answer, merely looked her in$4$ the face.  And she rose.
118:200,05['  ]| They neither of them ever forgot that$6#2$ absurd, jogging little dance.
118:200,06[A  ]| "I must speak to$4$ you, Mary," 
118:200,06['  ]| he said.
118:200,07[B  ]| "What about?"
118:200,08[A  ]| "Would you really like$1$ to$9$ live on$4$ a farm?"
118:200,09[B  ]| "I \think\ I should."
118:200,10['  ]| The conversation was rather jerky and breathless.
118:200,11[A  ]| "In$4$ two years I can have a farm," 
118:200,11['  ]| he said.
118:200,12['  ]| She was silent for$4$ some time.  Then she looked into his eyes, with her
118:200,13['  ]| queer, black, humble-seeming eyes.  She was thinking of all the grandeur of
118:200,14['  ]| being Mrs*Boyd*Blessington.  It attracted her a great deal.  At the same time,
118:200,15['  ]| something in$4$ her soul fell prostrate, when Jack looked straight into her.
118:200,16['  ]| Something fell prostrate, and she could not help it.  His eyes had a queer
118:200,17['  ]| power in$4$ them.
118:200,18[A  ]| "In$4$ two years I can have a farm ~~ a good one," 
118:200,18['  ]| he said.
118:200,19['  ]| She only gazed into his eyes with her queer, black, fascinated gaze.
118:200,20['  ]| The dance was over.  Aunt*Matilda was tapping Jack's wrist with her fan
118:200,21['  ]| and saying:
118:200,22[F  ]| "Yes, Mr*Blessington, do be so$5#1$ good as to$9$ take Mary down to$4$ supper."
118:200,23['  ]| Supper was over.  It was the twentieth dance.  Jack had been introduced to$4$ a
118:200,24['  ]| sporting girl in$4$ her late twenties.  She treated him like$4$ a child, and talked
118:200,25['  ]| quite amusingly.  Tom called her 
118:200,25@h   | a "barrack*hack."
118:200,26['  ]| Mr*Blessington went by$5$ with Mary on$4$ his arm.
118:200,27[A  ]| "Mary," 
118:200,27['  ]| said Jack, 
118:200,27[A  ]| "do you know Miss*Brackley."
118:200,28['  ]| Mary stopped and was smilingly introduced.  Miss*Brackley at once
118:200,29['  ]| pounced amusingly upon$4$ Mr*Blessington.
118:200,30[A  ]| "I want to$9$ speak to$4$ you," 
118:200,30['  ]| Jack said once more to$4$ Mary.  
118:200,30[A  ]| "Behind the curtain
118:200,31[A  ]| of the third window."
118:200,32['  ]| He glanced at the red, ponderous plush curtain he meant.  Mary looked
118:200,33['  ]| frightened into his eyes, then glanced too.  Mr*Blessington, extricating himself,
118:200,34['  ]| walked on$5$ with Mary.
118:200,35['  ]| Jack looked round for$4$ Tom.  That$6#2$ young man was having a drink, at the
118:200,36['  ]| supper extra.  Jack left the Barrack*Hack for$4$ a moment.
118:200,37[A  ]| "Tom," 
118:200,37['  ]| he said.  
118:200,37[A  ]| "Will$1$  you stand by$4$ me in$4$ anything I say or do?"
118:200,38[H  ]| "I will$1$," 
118:200,38['  ]| said the glistening, scarlet-faced Tom, who$6#1$ was away on$4$ the gay
118:200,39['  ]| high waves of exaltation.
118:200,40[A  ]| "Get up$5$ a rubber of whist for$4$ Aunt*Matilda.  I know she would like$1$ one.  Will$1$
118:200,41[A  ]| you?"
118:200,42[H  ]| "Before you can say Wiggins," 
118:200,42['  ]| replied Tom, laughing as he always did
118:200,43['  ]| when he was tipsy.
118:200,44[A  ]| "And I say, Tom, you care for$4$ Mary, do not you?  Would you provide a
118:200,45[A  ]| home for$4$ her if she was wanting one?"
118:201,01[H  ]| "I would marry Mary if she would have me and I had not got a wife."
118:201,02[A  ]| "Shut up$5$!"
118:201,03['  ]| Tom broke into a laugh.
118:201,04[A  ]| "Do not go back on$4$ me, Tom."
118:201,05[H  ]| "Never, s'elp me bob."
118:201,06[A  ]| "Get a move on$5$ then, and arrange that$6#2$ whist."
118:201,07['  ]| He sent him off with the Barrack*Hack.  And then he watched Mary.  She
118:201,08['  ]| still was walking with Mr*Blessington.  They were not dancing.  She knew Jack
118:201,09['  ]| was watching her, and she was nervous.  He watched her more closely.
118:201,10['  ]| And at the third window she fluttered, staggered a little, let go Mr*Blessington's
118:201,11['  ]| arm, and turned round to$9$ gather up$5$ her skirt behind.  She
118:201,12['  ]| pretended she had torn a hem.  She pretended she could not move without a
118:201,13['  ]| pin.  She asked to$9$ be steered into the alcove.  She sent Mr*Blessington away
118:201,14['  ]| into the ladies' dressing-room, for$4$ a pin.
118:201,15['  ]| And when he came back with it, she was gone.
118:201,16['  ]| Jack, outside in$4$ the night, was questioning her.
118:201,17[A  ]| "Has Mr*Blessington proposed to$4$ you yet?"
118:201,18[B  ]| "No$7$."
118:201,19[A  ]| "Do not let him.  Would you really be happy on$4$ a farm?  Even if it was rather
118:201,20[A  ]| hard work?"
118:201,21['  ]| He had to$9$ look down on$4$ her very steadfastly as he asked this.  And she was
118:201,22['  ]| slow in$4$ answering, and the tears came into her eyes before she murmured:
118:201,23[B  ]| "Yes."
118:201,24['  ]| He was touched, and the same dominating dark desire came over him
118:201,25['  ]| again.  He held her fast in$4$ his arms, fast and silent.  The desire was dark and
118:201,26['  ]| powerful and permanent in$4$ him.
118:201,27[A  ]| "Can you wait for$4$ me, even two years?"  
118:201,27['  ]| he asked.
118:201,28[B  ]| "Yes," 
118:201,28['  ]| she murmured faintly.
118:201,29['  ]| His will$0$ was steady and black.  He knew he could wait.
118:201,30[A  ]| "In$4$ two years I shall have a farm for$4$ you to$9$ live on$5$," 
118:201,30['  ]| he said.  And he kissed
118:201,31['  ]| her again, with the same dark, permanent passion.
118:201,32['  ]| Then he sent her off again.
118:201,33['  ]| He went and found Mr*George, in$4$ the card*room.  There was old Aunt*Matilda,
118:201,34['  ]| playing for$4$ her life, her diamonds twinkling but her fan laid aside.
118:201,35[A  ]| "We are going to$4$ Wandoo to-morrow morning, sir," 
118:201,35['  ]| said Jack.
118:201,36[C  ]| "That$6#2$ is right, lad,"  
118:201,36['  ]| said Mr*George.
118:201,37[A  ]| "I say, sir, will$1$ not you do Tom a kindness?"  
118:201,37['  ]| said Jack.  
118:201,37[A  ]| "You are coming down
118:201,38[A  ]| yourself one day this week, are not you?"
118:201,39[C  ]| "Yes, I shall be down on$4$ Wednesday or Thursday."
118:201,40[A  ]| "Bring Mary down with you.  Make her Aunt*Matilda let her come.  Tom is
118:201,41[A  ]| awfully gone on$4$ her, and when he sees her with Boyd*Blessington he
118:201,42[A  ]| straightway goes for$4$ a drink.  I do not think she is suited for$4$ Mr*Blessington; do
118:201,43[A  ]| you, sir?  He is nearly old enough to$9$ be her father.  And Tom is the best fellow
118:201,44[A  ]| in$4$ the world, and Mary is the one he cares for$4$.  If nothing puts him out and
118:201,45[A  ]| sends him wrong, there is not a better fellow in$4$ the world."
118:202,01['  ]| Mr*George blew his nose, prrhed!  and bahed!  and was in$4$ a funk.  He feared
118:202,02['  ]| Aunt*Matilda.  He was very fond of Mary, might even have married her
118:202,03['  ]| himself, but for$4$ the ridicule.  He liked Tom*Ellis.  He did not care for$4$ men like$4$
118:202,04['  ]| Blessington.  And he was an emotional old Australian.
118:202,05[C  ]| "That$6#2$ needs thinking about!  That$6#2$ needs thought!"  
118:202,05['  ]| he said.
118:202,06['  ]| Not the next day, but the day following that$6#2$, the boys drove away from
118:202,07['  ]| Perth in$4$ a new sulky, with a horse bought from Jimmy*Short.  And Mr*George
118:202,08['  ]| had promised to$9$ come on$4$ the coach the day after, with Mary.
119:203,00[U  ]| <The Welcome at Wandoo>
119:203,01[A  ]| "Things change," 
119:203,01['  ]| said Jack, as he and Tom drove along in$4$ the sulky,
119:203,02[A  ]| "and they never go back to$4$ what they were before."
119:203,03[H  ]| "Seems like$3$ they do not," 
119:203,03['  ]| said Tom uneasily.
119:203,04[A  ]| "And men change," 
119:203,04['  ]| continued Jack.  
119:203,04[A  ]| "I have changed, and I shall never go
119:203,05[A  ]| back to$4$ what I was before."
119:203,06[H  ]| "Oh, dry up$5$," 
119:203,06['  ]| said the nervous Tom.  
119:203,06[H  ]| "You are just the blanky same."
119:203,07['  ]| Both boys felt a load on$4$ their spirits, now they were actually on$4$ the road
119:203,08['  ]| home.  They hated the load too.
119:203,09[H  ]| "We are going to$9$ make some change at Wandoo," 
119:203,09['  ]| said Tom.  
119:203,09[H  ]| "I wish I could
119:203,10[H  ]| leave Ma on$4$ the place.  But Mr*George says she absolutely refuses to$9$ stay, and
119:203,11[H  ]| he says I have not go to$9$ try and force her.  He sortta winked at me, and told me 
119:203,11@c   | I
119:203,12@c   | should want to$9$ be settlin' down myself.  
119:203,12[H  ]| I wondered what in$4$ hell he meant.
119:203,13[H  ]| You have not let on$5$ nothing about that$6#2$ Honeysuckle trip, have you?  I do not mean to$9$
119:203,14[H  ]| insult you by$4$ askin', but it seemed kinder funny like$5$."
119:203,15[A  ]| "No$7$," 
119:203,15['  ]| said Jack.  
119:203,15[A  ]| "I have not breathed Honeysuckle to$4$ a soul, and never will$1$.
119:203,16[A  ]| You get it off your mind ~~ it is nothing."
119:203,17[H  ]| "Well, then I dunno what he meant.  I told him 
119:203,17@h   | I had not made a bean
119:203,18@h   | anyhow.  
119:203,18[H  ]| And I asked him 
119:203,18@h   | what in$4$ hell Ma was goin' to$9$ live on$4$.  
119:203,18[H  ]| He seemed a
119:203,19[H  ]| bit down in$4$ the mouth about her himself, old*George did.  Fair gave me the
119:203,20[H  ]| bally hump.  Wisht I was still up$4$ north; strike me lucky, I do.
119:203,21[H  ]| We have been gone over two years, yet I feel I have never been away, and yet I
119:203,22[H  ]| feel the biggest stranger in$4$ the world, comin' back to$4$ what is supposed to$9$ be me
119:203,23[H  ]| own house.  I hate havin' ter come, because of the bloomin' circumstances.
119:203,24[H  ]| Why in$4$ hell could not Ma have had the place for$4$ while she lived, and me be
119:203,25[H  ]| comin' back to$4$ her and the kids.  Then I should not feel sortta sick about it.  But
119:203,26[H  ]| as it is ~~ it fair gets me beat.  Lennie will$1$ resent me, and Katie and Monica will$1$ hate
119:203,27[H  ]| havin' to$9$ get inter a smaller house, and the twins and Harry and the little ones
119:203,28[H  ]| do not matter so$5#1$ much, but I do worry over pore ol' Ma."
119:203,29['  ]| There he was with a blank face, driving the poney homewards.  He had not
119:203,30['  ]| worried over pore ol' Ma till this very minute, on$4$ the principle "out of sight,
119:203,31['  ]| out of mind."  Now he was all strung up$5$.
119:203,32[H  ]| "You know, Jack," 
119:203,32['  ]| he said, 
119:203,32[H  ]| "I kinder do not want Wandoo.  I kinder do not want
119:203,33[H  ]| to$9$ be like$4$ Dad, settlin' down with a heap of responsibilities and kids and all that$6#2$.
119:203,34[H  ]| I kinder do not want it.
119:203,35[A  ]| "What do you want?"  
119:203,35['  ]| said Jack.
119:203,36[H  ]| "I would rather knock about with you for$4$ me mate, Jack; I would a sight rather do
119:203,37[H  ]| that$6#2$."
119:204,01[A  ]| "You can not knock about for*ever," 
119:204,01['  ]| said Jack.
119:204,02[H  ]| "I do not know whether you can or you can not.  I only know I never knew my
119:204,03[H  ]| own mother.  I only know \she\ never lived at Wandoo.  \She\ never raised me
119:204,04[H  ]| there.  I bet she lugged me through the bush.  And when all comes to$4$ all, I would
119:204,05[H  ]| rather do the same.  I do not want Dad's property.  I do not want that$6#2$ Ellis
119:204,06[H  ]| property.  Seems to$4$ me bad luck.  What do you think?"
119:204,07[A  ]| "I should think it depends on$4$ you," 
119:204,07['  ]| said Jack.
119:204,08[H  ]| "I should think it does.  Anyhow, shall you stop on$5$ with me, and go shares in$4$
119:204,09[H  ]| the blinkin' thing?"
119:204,10[A  ]| "I do not know," 
119:204,10['  ]| said Jack.
119:204,11['  ]| He was thinking that$3$ 
119:204,11@a   | soon he would see Monica.  He was wondering how
119:204,12@a   | she would be.  He was wondering if she was ready for$4$ him, or if she would
119:204,13@a   | have a thousand obstacles around her.  He was wondering if she would want
119:204,14@a   | him to$9$ plead and play the humble and say he was not good enough for$4$ her.
119:204,15@a   | Because he would not do it.  Not if he never saw her again.  All that$6#2$ flummery
119:204,16@a   | of love he would not subscribe to$4$.  He would not say he adored her, because
119:204,17@a   | he did not adore her.  He was not the adoring sort.  He would not make up$5$ to$4$
119:204,18@a   | her, and play the humble to$4$ her, because it insulted his pride.  He did not feel
119:204,19@a   | like$4$ that$6#2$, and he never would feel like$4$ that$6#2$, not towards any woman on$4$ earth.
119:204,20@a   | Even Mary, once he had declared himself, would fetch up$5$ her social tricks
119:204,21@a   | and try to$9$ bring him to$4$ his knees.  And he was not going down on$4$ his knees,
119:204,22@a   | not for$4$ half a second, not to$4$ any woman on$4$ earth, nor to$4$ any man either.
119:204,23@a   | Enough of this kneeling flummery.
119:204,24@a   | He stood fast and erect on$4$ his two feet, that$6#1$ had travelled many wild miles.
119:204,25@a   | And fast and erect he would continue to$9$ stand.  Almost he wished he could be
119:204,26@a   | clad in$4$ iron armour, inaccessible.  Because the thought of women bringing
119:204,27@a   | him down and making him humble himself, before they would give themselves
119:204,28@a   | to$4$ him, this turned his soul back.
119:204,29@a   | Monica!  He did not love her.  He did not feel the slightest bit of sentimental
119:204,30@a   | weakening towards her.  Rather when he thought of her his muscles went
119:204,31@a   | stiffer and his soul haughtier.  It was not he who$6#1$ must bow the head.  It was
119:204,32@a   | she.
119:204,33@a   | Because he wanted her.  With a deep, arrowy desire, and a long, lasting
119:204,34@a   | dark desire, he wanted her.  He wanted to$9$ take her apart from all the world,
119:204,35@a   | and put her under his own roof.
119:204,36@a   | But he did not want to$9$ plead with her, or weep before her, or adore her, or
119:204,37@a   | humbly kiss her feet.  The very thought of it made his blood curdle and go
119:204,38@a   | black.  Something had happened to$4$ him in$4$ the Never-Never.  Before he went
119:204,39@a   | over the border, he might have been tricked into a surrender to$4$ this soft and
119:204,40@a   | hideous thing they called love.  But now, he would have love in$4$ his own way,
119:204,41@a   | haughtily, passionately, and darkly, with dark, arrowy desire, and a strange,
119:204,42@a   | arrowily-submissive woman:  either this, or he would not have love at all.
119:204,43@a   | He thought of Monica, and sometimes the thought of her sent him black
119:204,44@a   | with anger.  And sometimes, as he thought of her wild, delicate, reckless,
119:204,45@a   | lonely little profile, a hot tenderness swept over him, and he felt he would
119:205,01@a   | envelop her with a fierce and sheltering tenderness, like$4$ a scarlet mantle.
119:205,02@a   | So$5#1$ long as she would not fight against him, and strike back at him.  Jeer at
119:205,03@a   | him, play with Easu in$4$ order to$9$ insult him.  Not that$6#2$, my God, not that$6#2$.
119:205,04@a   | As for$4$ Mary, a certain hate of her burned in$4$ him.  The queer heavy stupid
119:205,05@a   | conceit with which$6#1$ she had gone off to$9$ dance with Boyd*Blessington, because
119:205,06@a   | he was an important social figure.  Mary, wanting to$9$ live on$4$ a farm, but at the
119:205,07@a   | same time absolutely falling before the social glamour of a Blessington, and
119:205,08@a   | becoming conceited on$4$ the strength of it.  Inside herself, Mary thought she
119:205,09@a   | was very important, thought that$3$ all sorts of eternal destinies depended on$4$
119:205,10@a   | \her\ choice and \her\ actions.  Even Jack was nothing more than an instrument of
119:205,11@a   | her divine importance.
119:205,12@a   | He had sensed this clearly enough.  And it was this that$6#1$ made Aunt*Matilda
119:205,13@a   | a bit spiteful against her, when she said Mary was "heavy" and would not easily
119:205,14@a   | get a man.
119:205,15@a   | But there was also the queer black look in$4$ Mary's eyes, that$6#1$ was outside her
119:205,16@a   | conceit and her social importance.  The queer, almost animal dark glisten,
119:205,17@a   | that$6#1$ was full of fear and wonder, and vulnerability.  Like$4$ the look in$4$ the eyes
119:205,18@a   | of a caught wild animal.  Or the look in$4$ the shining black eyes of one of the
119:205,19@a   | aborigines, especially the black woman looking askance in$4$ a sort of terror at a 
119:205,20@a   | white man, as if a white man was a sort of devil that$6#1$ might possess her.
119:205,21@a   | Where had Mary got that$6#2$ queer aboriginal look, she the grand-daughter
119:205,22@a   | of an English earl?
119:205,23[H  ]| "You are real lively to-day, aintcher, Jack?  Got a hundred quid for$4$ your
119:205,24[H  ]| birthday, and my, some talk!"
119:205,25[A  ]| "Comes to$4$ that$6#2$," 
119:205,25['  ]| said Jack, rousing himself with difficulty, 
119:205,25[A  ]| "we have come
119:205,26[A  ]| fifteen or twenty miles without you opening your mouth either."
119:205,27['  ]| Tom laughed shortly and relapsed into silence.
119:205,28[H  ]| "Well," 
119:205,28['  ]| he said, 
119:205,28[H  ]| "let us wake up$5$ now, there is the out-lying paddock."  
119:205,28['  ]| He
119:205,29['  ]| pointed with his whip.  
119:205,29[H  ]| "And there is the house through the dip in$4$ the valley."
119:205,30['  ]| Then suddenly in$4$ a queer tone:  
119:205,30[H  ]| "Say, matey, do not it look lovely from here,
119:205,31[H  ]| with all that$6#2$ afternoon sun falling over it like$4$ snow ~~ You think I have never
119:205,32[H  ]| seen snow:  but I have, in$4$ my dreams."
119:205,33['  ]| Jack's heart contracted as he jumped down to$9$ open the first gate.  For$4$ him,
119:205,34['  ]| too, the strange fulness of the yellow afternoon light was always unearthly, at
119:205,35['  ]| Wandoo.  But the day was still early, just after dinner-time, for$3$ they had
119:205,36['  ]| stayed the night half way.
119:205,37[A  ]| "Looks in$4$ good trim, eh?"  
119:205,37['  ]| said Jack.
119:205,38[H  ]| "So$5#2$ it does!  A%*1%!"  
119:205,38['  ]| replied Tom.  
119:205,38[H  ]| "Mr*George says Ma does wonders.  Made
119:205,39[H  ]| it pay hand over fist.  You remember that$6#2$ fellow, Pin-eye*Percy, what came
119:205,40[H  ]| from Queensland and had studied agriculture and was supposed to$9$ be a bad
119:205,41[H  ]| egg and all that$6#2$?  At that$6#2$ 'roo hunt, you remember?  Well, he bought land next
119:205,42[H  ]| to$4$ Wandoo, off-side from the Reds.  And Ma sortta broke with the Reds over
119:205,43[H  ]| something, and went in$5$ with him, and it seems they was able to$9$ do wonders.
119:205,44[H  ]| Anyway, Old*George says 
119:205,44@c   | Ma has been able to$9$ buy a little place near her own old
119:205,45@c   | home in$4$ Beverley, to$9$ go to$4$.  
119:205,45[H  ]| But seems to$4$ me ~~ "
119:206,01[A  ]| "What?"
119:206,02[H  ]| "Funny how little anyone \tells\ you, Jack."
119:206,03[A  ]| "How?"
119:206,04[H  ]| "I felt I could not get to$4$ the botom of what Old*George was tellin' me.  I took
119:206,05[H  ]| no$2$ notice then.  But it seems funny now.  And I say ~~ "
119:206,06[A  ]| "What?"
119:206,07[H  ]| "You would have thought Monica or Katie might have driven to$4$ the Cross*Roads for$4$
119:206,08[H  ]| us, like$3$ we used to$9$ in$4$ Dad's days."
119:206,09[A  ]| "Yes.  I thought one of them would have been there."
119:206,10['  ]| The boys drove on$5$, in$4$ tense silence, through the various gates.  They could
119:206,11['  ]| see the house ahead.
119:206,12[H  ]| "There is Timothy," 
119:206,12['  ]| said Tom.
119:206,13['  ]| The old black was holding open the yard gate.  He seemed to$9$ have almost
119:206,14['  ]| forgotten Jack, but the emotion in$4$ his black, glistening eyes was strange, as he
119:206,15['  ]| stared with strange adoration at the young master.  He caught Tom's hand in$4$
119:206,16['  ]| his two wrinkled dark hands, as if clinging to$4$ life itself.
119:206,17['  ]| The twins ran out, waved, and ran back.  Katie appeared, looking bigger,
119:206,18['  ]| heavier, more awkward than ever.  Tom patted Timothy's hands again, then
119:206,19['  ]| went across and kissed Kate, who$6#1$ blushed with shyness.
119:206,20[H  ]| "Where is Ma, Katie?"
119:206,21[O  ]| "In$4$ the parlour."
119:206,22['  ]| Tom broke away, leaving Katie blushing in$4$ front of Jack.  Jack was thinking
119:206,23['  ]| how queer and empty the house seemed.  And he felt an outsider again.  He
119:206,24['  ]| stayed outside, sat down on$4$ the bench.
119:206,25['  ]| A boy much bigger than Harry, but with the same blue eyes and curly hair,
119:206,26['  ]| appeared chewing a haystalk, and squatted on$4$ a stone near by$5$.  Then Og and
119:206,27['  ]| Magog, a bit taller, but no$2$ thinner, came and edged on$5$ to$4$ the seat.  Then Ellie,
119:206,28['  ]| a long-legged little girl, came running to$4$ his knees.  And then what had been
119:206,29['  ]| baby, but was not a fat, toddling little girl, came racing out, fearless and
119:206,30['  ]| inconsequential as the twins had been.
119:206,31[A  ]| "Where is Len?" 
119:206,31['  ]| said Jack.
119:206,32[L  ]| "He is in$4$ the paddock seein' to$4$ the sheep," 
119:206,32['  ]| said Harry.
119:206,33['  ]| There was a queer tense silence.  The children seemed to$9$ cling round Jack
119:206,34['  ]| for$4$ male protection.
119:206,35[L  ]| "We are goin' to$9$ live nearer in$5$ to$4$ the township now," 
119:206,35['  ]| said Harry, 
119:206,35[L  ]| "in$4$ a wee
119:206,36[L  ]| sortta house."
119:206,37['  ]| He stared with bold, blue eyes, unwinking and yet not easy, straight into
119:206,38['  ]| Jack's eyes.
119:206,39[A  ]| "Well, Harry," 
119:206,39['  ]| said Jack, 
119:206,39[A  ]| "you have grown quite a man."
119:206,40[L  ]| "I hev so$5#2$!"  
119:206,40['  ]| said Harry, 
119:206,40[L  ]| "quite the tyke!  I ken kill birds for$4$ Ma to$9$ put in$4$ the
119:206,41[L  ]| pot.  I ken skin a kangaroo.  I ken ~~ "
119:206,42['  ]| But Jack did not hear what else, because Tom was calling him from the
119:206,43['  ]| doorway.  He went slowly across.
119:206,44[H  ]| "Say, mate," 
119:206,44['  ]| said Tom in$4$ a low tone, 
119:206,44[H  ]| "stand by$4$ me.  Things is not all right."
119:206,45['  ]| Aloud he said:  
119:206,45[H  ]| "Ma wants to$9$ see you, Jack."
119:207,01['  ]| Jack followed through the back premises, down the three steps into the
119:207,02['  ]| parlour.  
119:207,02@a   | It all seemed forlorn.
119:207,03['  ]| Ma sat with her face buried in$4$ her hands.  Jack knitted his brows.  Tom put
119:207,04['  ]| his hand on$4$ her shoulder.
119:207,05[H  ]| "What is it, Ma?  What is it?  I would not be anything but good to$4$ you, Ma, you
119:207,06[H  ]| know that$6#2$.  Here is Jack*Grant."
119:207,07[I  ]| "You were always a good boy, Tom.  I am real glad to$9$ see you back.  And Jack,"
119:207,08['  ]| said Ma, through her hands.
119:207,09['  ]| Tom looked at Jack in$4$ dismay.  Then he stooped and kissed her hair.
119:207,10[H  ]| "You look to$4$ me," 
119:207,10['  ]| he said.  
119:207,10[H  ]| "We will$1$ fix everything all right, for$4$ Lennie, and
119:207,11[H  ]| everybody."
119:207,12['  ]| But Ma still kept her face between her hands.
119:207,13[H  ]| "There is nothing to$9$ worry about, Ma, sure there is not," 
119:207,13['  ]| persisted the distracted
119:207,14['  ]| Tom.  
119:207,14[H  ]| "I want you to$9$ have everything you want, I do, you and Lennie and
119:207,15[H  ]| the kids."
119:207,16['  ]| Mrs*Ellis took her hands from her face.  She looked pale and worn.  She
119:207,17['  ]| would not turn to$4$ the boys, but kept her face averted.
119:207,18[I  ]| "I know you are as good a boy as ever lived," 
119:207,18['  ]| she faltered.  Then she glanced
119:207,19['  ]| quickly at Tom and Jack, the tears began to$9$ run down her face, and she threw
119:207,20['  ]| her apron over her head.
119:207,21[H  ]| "God's love!"  
119:207,21['  ]| gasped the bursting Tom, sinking on$4$ a chair.
119:207,22['  ]| They all waited in$4$ silence.  Mrs*Ellis suddenly wiped her face on$4$ her apron
119:207,23['  ]| and turned with a wan smile to$4$ the boys.
119:207,24[I  ]| "I have saved enough to$9$ buy a little place near Beverley, which$6#1$ is where I
119:207,25[I  ]| belong," 
119:207,25['  ]| she said.  
119:207,25[I  ]| "So$3$ me and the children are all right.  And I have got my eye,
119:207,26[I  ]| at least Lennie has got \his\ on$4$ a good selection east of here, between this and my
119:207,27[I  ]| little house, for$4$ Lennie.  But we want cash for$4$ that$6#2$, I am afraid.  Only it is not
119:207,28[I  ]| that$6#2$.  That$6#2$ is not it."
119:207,29[H  ]| "Lennie is young yet to$9$ take up$5$ land, Ma!"  
119:207,29['  ]| Tom plunged in$5$.  
119:207,29[H  ]| "Why will$1$ not he
119:207,30[H  ]| stop here and go shares with me?"
119:207,31[I  ]| "He wants to$9$ get married," 
119:207,31['  ]| said the mother vanly.
119:207,32[H  ]| "Get married!  Len!  Why, he is only seventeen!"
119:207,33['  ]| At this very natural exclamation, Ma threw her apron over her head, and
119:207,34['  ]| began to$9$ cry once more.
119:207,35[I  ]| "He has been so$5#1$ good," 
119:207,35['  ]| she sobbed.  
119:207,35[I  ]| "He has been so$5#1$ good!  And this Ruth is old
119:207,36[I  ]| enough and sensible enough for$4$ two.  Better anything" ~~ 
119:207,36['  ]| with more
119:207,37['  ]| sobbing ~~ 
119:207,37[I  ]| "than another scandal in$4$ the family."
119:207,38['  ]| Tom rubbed his head.  
119:207,38@h   | Gosh!  it was no$2$ joke being the head of a family!
119:207,39[H  ]| "Well, Ma, if you wish it, what is the odds.  But I am afraid it will$1$ have to$9$ wait a
119:207,40[H  ]| bit.  Jack will$1$ tell you I have not any cash.  Not a stiver, Ma!  Blown out!  It takes it
119:207,41[H  ]| outter you up$4$ North.  We never struck it rich."
119:207,42['  ]| Mrs*Ellis, under her apron, wept softly.
119:207,43[I  ]| "Poor little Lennie!  Poor little Lennie!  He has been so$5#1$ good, Tom, working
119:207,44[I  ]| day and night.  And never spending a shilling.  All his learning gone for$4$
119:207,45[I  ]| nought, Tom, and him a little slave, at his years, old and wise enough to$9$ be his
119:208,01[I  ]| father, Tom.  And he wants to$9$ get married.  If we could start him out fair!  The
119:208,02[I  ]| new place has only four rooms and an out-kitchen, and there is not enough to$9$
119:208,03[I  ]| keep him, much less a lady wife.  She is a lady earning her bread teaching.  He
119:208,04[I  ]| could go to$4$ Grace's.  Alec*Rice would have him.  But ~~ "
119:208,05['  ]| She had taken her apron off her face, and was staring averted at the door
119:208,06['  ]| leading into Gran's old room.
119:208,07['  ]| The two boys listened mystified and a little annoyed.  
119:208,07@x   | Why all this about
119:208,08@x   | Lennie?  
119:208,08['  ]| Jack was wondering where Monica was.  
119:208,08@a   | Why did not she come?  Why
119:208,09@a   | was not she mentioned?  And why was Ma so$5#1$ absolutely downcast, on$4$ the
119:208,10@a   | afternoon of Tom's home-coming?  It was not fair on$4$ Tom.
119:208,11[A  ]| "Where is Monica?"  
119:208,11['  ]| asked Jack shyly at last.
119:208,12['  ]| But Mrs*Ellis only shook her head faintly and was mute, staring across at
119:208,13['  ]| Gran's door.
119:208,14[H  ]| "Lennie married!"  
119:208,14['  ]| Tom was brooding.  
119:208,14[H  ]| "You will$1$ have to$9$ put it out of your mind
119:208,15[H  ]| for$4$ a bit, Ma.  Why, it would not hardly be decent."
119:208,16[I  ]| "Let him marry if he is set on$4$ it ~~ and the girl is a good girl," 
119:208,16['  ]| said Mrs*Ellis,
119:208,17['  ]| her eyes swamping with tears again and her voice breaking as she rocked
119:208,18['  ]| herself again.
119:208,19[H  ]| "Yes, if we could afford it," 
119:208,19['  ]| Tom hastily put in$5$.  And he raised his stunned
119:208,20['  ]| eyes to$4$ Jack.  Jack shrugged, and looked in$4$ the empty fireplace, and thought
119:208,21['  ]| of the little fires Gran used to$9$ have.
119:208,22@a   | Money!  Money!  Money!  The moment you entered within four walls it was
119:208,23@a   | the word money, and your mouth full of ashes.
119:208,24['  ]| And then again something hardened in$4$ his soul.  
119:208,24@a   | All his life he had been
119:208,25@a   | slipping away from the bugbear of money.  It was no$2$ good.  You had to$9$ turn
119:208,26@a   | round and get a grip on$4$ the miserable stuff.  There was nothing for$4$ it.
119:208,27['  ]| Though money nauseated him, he now accepted the fact that$3$ 
119:208,27@a   | he must have
119:208,28@a   | control over money, and not try just to$9$ slip by$5$.
119:208,29@a   | He began to$9$ repent of having judged Gran.  That$6#2$ little old witch of a Gran,
119:208,30@a   | he had hated the way she had seemed to$9$ hoard money and gloat in$4$ the secret
119:208,31@a   | possession of it.  But perhaps she knew, \somebody\ must control it, somebody
119:208,32@a   | must keep a hand over it.  Like$4$ a deadly weapon.  Money!  Property!  Gran
119:208,33@a   | fighting for$4$ them, to$9$ bequeath them to$4$ the man she loved.
119:208,34@a   | Perhaps she too had really hated money.  She would not make a will$0$.  Neither
119:208,35@a   | would Dad.  Their secret repugnance for$4$ money and possessions.  But you
119:208,36@a   | \had\ to$9$ have property, or they were down and out.  Like$4$ Lennie!
119:208,37@a   | Poor old plucky Gran, fighting for$4$ her men.  It was all a terrible muddle
119:208,38@a   | anyhow.  But he began to$9$ understand her motive.
119:208,39@a   | Yes, if Lennie had got a girl into trouble and wanted to$9$ marry her, the best
119:208,40@a   | thing he could do would be to$9$ have money and buy himself a little place.
119:208,41@a   | Otherwise, heaven knows what would happen to$4$ him.  With their profound
119:208,42@a   | indifference to$4$ the old values, these Australians seemed either to$9$ exaggerate
119:208,43@a   | the brutal importance of money, or they wanted to$9$ waste money altogether,
119:208,44@a   | and themselves along with it.  This was what Gran feared:  that$3$ her best male
119:209,01@a   | heirs would go and waste themselves, as Jacob had begun to$9$ waste himself.
119:209,02@a   | The generous ones would just waste themselves, because of their profound
119:209,03@a   | mistrust of the old values.
119:209,04@a   | Better rescue Lennie for$4$ the little while it was still possible to$9$ rescue him.
119:209,05@a   | Jack's mind turned to$4$ his own money.  And, then, looking at that$6#2$ inner door,
119:209,06@a   | he seemed to$9$ see Gran's vehement figure, pointing almost viciously with her
119:209,07@a   | black stick.  She had tried so$5#1$ hard to$9$ drive the wedge of her meaning into
119:209,08@a   | Jack's consciousness.  And she had failed.  He had refused to$9$ take her meaning.
119:209,09@a   | 
119:209,10['  ]| But now with a sigh that$6#1$ was almost a groan, he took up$5$ the money burden.
119:209,11@a   | The "stocking" she had talked about, and which$6#1$ he had left in$4$ the realms of
119:209,12@a   | unreality, was an actuality.  That$6#2$ witch Gran, with her uncanny, hateful
119:209,13@a   | second sight, had put by$5$ a stocking for$4$ Lennie, and entrusted the secret to$4$
119:209,14@a   | Jack.  And he had refused the secret.  He hated those affairs.
119:209,15@a   | Now he must assume the mysterious responsibility for$4$ this money.  
119:209,15['  ]| He got
119:209,16['  ]| up$5$ and went to$4$ the chimney, and peered into the black opening.  Then he
119:209,17['  ]| began to$9$ feel carefully along the side of the chimney stack inside, where
119:209,18['  ]| there was a ledge.  His hand went deep in$4$ soot and charcoal and grey ash.
119:209,19['  ]| He took off his coat and rolled up$5$ his sleeve.
119:209,20[H  ]| "Gone off your bloomin' nut, Jack?"  
119:209,20['  ]| asked Tom, mystified.
119:209,21[A  ]| "Gran told me she had put a stocking for$4$ Len in$4$ here," 
119:209,21['  ]| said Jack.
119:209,22[H  ]| "Stocking be blowed!"  
119:209,22['  ]| said Tom testily.  
119:209,22[H  ]| "We have heard that$6#2$ barn-stick yarn
119:209,23[H  ]| before.  Leave it alone, boy."
119:209,24['  ]| He was looking at Jack's bare, brown, sinewy arm.  It reminded him of the
119:209,25['  ]| great North-West, and the heat, and the work, and the absolute carelessness.
119:209,26['  ]| This money and stocking business was like$4$ a mill-stone round his neck.  
119:209,26@h   | He
119:209,27@h   | felt he was gradually being drowned in$4$ soot, as Jack continued to$9$ fumble up$5$
119:209,28@h   | inside the chimney, and the soot poured down over the naked arm.
119:209,29[H  ]| "Oh, God's love, leave it alone, Jack!"  
119:209,29['  ]| he cried.
119:209,30[I  ]| "Let him try," 
119:209,30['  ]| said Mrs*Ellis quietly.  
119:209,30[I  ]| "If Gran told him, I wonder he did not
119:209,31[I  ]| speak before."
119:209,32[A  ]| "I never really thought about it," 
119:209,32['  ]| said Jack.
119:209,33[H  ]| "Do not think about it now!"  
119:209,33['  ]| shouted Tom.
119:209,34['  ]| Jack could feel nothing in$4$ the chimney.  He looked contemplatively at the
119:209,35['  ]| fireplace.  Something drew him to$4$ the place near Gran's arm-chair.  He began
119:209,36['  ]| feeling, while the other two watched him in$4$ a state of nervous tension.  Tom
119:209,37['  ]| hated it.
119:209,38[A  ]| "She pointed here with her stick," 
119:209,38['  ]| said Jack.
119:209,39['  ]| There was a piece of tin fastened over the side of the fire-place, and
119:209,40['  ]| black-leaded.
119:209,41[A  ]| "Mind if we try behind this?"  
119:209,41['  ]| he asked.
119:209,42[H  ]| "Leave it alone!"  
119:209,42['  ]| cried Tom.
119:209,43['  ]| But Jack pulled it out, and the ash and dirt and soot poured down over the
119:209,44['  ]| hearth.  Behind the sheet of thin iron was the naked stone of the chimney-piece.
119:209,45['  ]| Various stones were loose:  that$6#2$ was why Gran had had the tin sheet put
119:210,01['  ]| over.
119:210,02['  ]| He got out of the cavity behind the stones, where the loose mortar had all
119:210,03['  ]| crumbled, a little square dusty box that$6#1$ had apparently been an old tea-caddy.
119:210,04['  ]| It was very heavy for$4$ its size, and very dirty.  He put it on$4$ the table in$4$
119:210,05['  ]| front of Mrs*Ellis.  Tom got up$5$ excitedly to look in$5$.  He opened the lid.  It was
119:210,06['  ]| full to$4$ the brim of coins, gold coins and silver coins and dust and dirt, and a
119:210,07['  ]| sort of spider filament.  He shook his head over it.
119:210,08[H  ]| "Is not that$6#2$ old Gran to$4$ a T!"  
119:210,08['  ]| he exclaimed, and poured out the dust and the
119:210,09['  ]| money on$4$ the table.
119:210,10['  ]| Ma began eagerly to$9$ pick out the gold from the silver, saying:
119:210,11[I  ]| "I remember when she made Dad put that$6#2$ iron plate up$5$.  She said insects
119:210,12[I  ]| came out and worried her."
119:210,13['  ]| Ma only picked out the gold pieces, the sovereigns and half sovereigns.
119:210,14['  ]| She left Tom to$9$ sort the silver crowns and half-crowns into little piles.  Jack
119:210,15['  ]| watched in$4$ silence.  There was a smell of soot and old fire-dust, and everybody's
119:210,16['  ]| hands were black.
119:210,17['  ]| Mrs*Ellis was putting the sovereigns in$4$ piles of ten.  She had a queer sort of
119:210,18['  ]| satisfaction, but her gloom did not really lift.  Jack stayed to$9$ know how much
119:210,19['  ]| it was.  Mentally he counted the piles of gold she made:  the pale, washy gold
119:210,20['  ]| of Australia, most of it.  She counted and counted again.
119:210,21[I  ]| "Two hundred and twenty-four pounds!"  
119:210,21['  ]| she said in$4$ a low voice.
119:210,22[H  ]| "And ten in$4$ silver," 
119:210,22['  ]| said Tom.
119:210,23[I  ]| "Two hundred and twenty-four pounds," 
119:210,23['  ]| she said.
119:210,24[H  ]| "It is not the world," 
119:210,24['  ]| said Tom, 
119:210,24[H  ]| "but it is worth having.  It is a start, Ma.  and
119:210,25[H  ]| you can not say \that$6#2$\ is not Lennie's."
119:210,26['  ]| Jack went out and left them.  He listened in$4$ all the rooms downstairs.  
119:210,26@a   | What
119:210,27@a   | he wanted to$9$ know about was Monica.  He hated this family and family
119:210,28@a   | money business, it smelled to$4$ him of death.  Where was Monica?  Probably, to$9$
119:210,29@a   | add to$4$ the disappointment, she was away, staying with Grace.
119:210,30@a   | The house sounded silent.  Upstairs all was silent.  It \felt\ as if nobody was
119:210,31@a   | there.
119:210,32['  ]| He went out and across the yard to$4$ the stable.  Lucy whinnied.  Jack felt 
119:210,32@a   | she
119:210,33@a   | knew him.  The nice, natural old thing:  Tom would have to$9$ christen her
119:210,34@a   | afresh.  At least \this\ Lucy would not leave a stocking behind her when she was
119:210,35@a   | dead.  She was much too clean.  Ah, so$5#1$ much nicer than that$6#2$ other Lucy with
119:210,36@a   | her unpleasant perspiration, away in$4$ Honeysuckle.
119:210,37['  ]| Jack stood a long while with the sensitive old horse.  Then he went round
119:210,38['  ]| the out-buildings, looking for$4$ Lennie.  He drifted back to$4$ the house, where
119:210,39['  ]| Harry was chopping something with a small hatchet.
119:210,40[A  ]| "Where is Monica, Harry?"  
119:210,40['  ]| he asked.
119:210,41[L  ]| "She is not home," 
119:210,41['  ]| said Harry.
119:210,42[A  ]| "Where has she gone?"
119:210,43[L  ]| "Dunno."
119:210,44['  ]| And the resolute boy went on$5$ with his chopping.
119:210,45['  ]| Tom came out, calling:  
119:210,45[H  ]| "I am going over to$9$ have a word with the Reds, Jack.
119:211,01[H  ]| Comin' with me?"
119:211,02['  ]| Tom did not care for$4$ going anywhere alone, just now.  Jack joined him.
119:211,03[A  ]| "Where is Monica, Tom?"  
119:211,03['  ]| he asked.
119:211,04[H  ]| "Ay, where is she?"  
119:211,04['  ]| said Tom, looking round as if he expected her to$9$
119:211,05['  ]| appear from the thin air.
119:211,06[A  ]| "She is not at home, anyhow," 
119:211,06['  ]| said Jack.
119:211,07[H  ]| "She has gone off to$4$ Grace's, or to$9$ see somebody, I expect," 
119:211,07['  ]| said Tom, as they
119:211,08['  ]| walked across the yard.  
119:211,08[H  ]| "And Len is out in$4$ the paddocks still.  He do not seem
119:211,09[H  ]| in$4$ no$2$ hurry to$9$ come and meet us, neither.  The little cuss!  Fancy that$6#2$ nipper
119:211,10[H  ]| wantin' to$9$ be spliced!  Gosh!  I will$1$ bet he is old for$4$ his age, the little old wallaby.
119:211,11[H  ]| And that$6#2$ bloomin' teacher woman, Ruth, why, she is older than me.  She oughtta
119:211,12[H  ]| be ashamed of herself, kidnappin' that$6#2$ nipper."
119:211,13['  ]| The two went side by$4$ side across the pasture, almost as if they were free
119:211,14['  ]| again.  They came to$4$ a stile.
119:211,15[H  ]| "Gosh!"  
119:211,15['  ]| said Tom.  
119:211,15[H  ]| "They have blocked up$5$ this gate, and put a stile over, see!
119:211,16[H  ]| Think of that$6#2$!"
119:211,17['  ]| They climbed the stile and continued their way.
119:211,18[H  ]| "God's love, boy, did not we land in$4$ it over our heads!  Ever see Ma like$4$ that$6#2$?
119:211,19[H  ]| I never.  Good for$4$ you, Jack, lad, findin' that$6#2$ tea-caddy.  That$6#2$ is how the Ellises
119:211,20[H  ]| are ~~ is not it the devil!  'Spect I take after my own mother, for$3$ I am not in$4$ the tea*caddyin'
119:211,21[H  ]| line.  Ma has cheered up$5$ a bit.  She will$1$ be able to$9$ start Lennie in$4$ a bit of a
119:211,22[H  ]| way now, and the twins can wait for$4$ a bit, thank goodness!  My, but are not families
119:211,23[H  ]| lively!  Here I come back to$9$ be boss of this bloomin' place, and I feel as if I was
119:211,24[H  ]| goin' to$9$ be shot.  Say, boy, do you think I am really spliced to$4$ that$6#2$ water-snake in$4$
119:211,25[H  ]| Honeysuckle? Because I shall have to$9$ have somebody on$4$ this outfit.  Alone I
119:211,26[H  ]| will$1$ not face it.  Say, matey, promise me you will$1$ not leave me till I am fixed up$5$ a
119:211,27[H  ]| bit.  Give me your word you will$1$ stand by$4$ me here for$4$ a time, anyhow."
119:211,28[A  ]| "I will$1$ stay for$4$ a time," 
119:211,28['  ]| said Jack.
119:211,29[H  ]| "Right O!  and then if I am not copped by$4$ the Honeysuckle bird ~~ 'appen
119:211,30[H  ]| Mary might have me, what do you think?  I shall have to$9$ have somebody.  I
119:211,31[H  ]| simply could not stand this place all by$4$ my lonesome.  What do you think about
119:211,32[H  ]| Mary?  Do you think she would like$1$ it, here?"
119:211,33[A  ]| "Ask her," 
119:211,33['  ]| said Jack grimly.
120:212,00[U  ]| <The Last of Easu>
120:212,00[U  ]| <i>
120:212,01['  ]| They knew that$3$ Easu was married, but they were hardly prepared for$4$
120:212,02['  ]| the dirty baby crawling on$4$ the verandah floor.  Easu had seen them
120:212,03['  ]| come through the gate, and was striding across to$9$ meet them, after bawling
120:212,04['  ]| something in$4$ his bullying way to$4$ someone inside the house:  presumably his
120:212,05['  ]| wife.
120:212,06['  ]| Outwardly, he was not much altered.  Yet there was an undefinable change
120:212,07['  ]| for$4$ the worse.  He was one of those men whom marriage seems to$9$ humiliate,
120:212,08['  ]| and to$9$ make ugly.  As if he despised himself for$4$ being married.
120:212,09['  ]| Easu ignored the baby as if it were not there, striding past into the house,
120:212,10['  ]| leading the newcomers into the parlour.  It was darkened in$4$ there, to$9$ keep
120:212,11['  ]| out the flies; but he pulled up$5$ the blind:  
120:212,11[N  ]| "to$9$ see their blanky fisogs."  
120:212,11['  ]| And he
120:212,12['  ]| called out to$4$ the missus to$9$ bring glasses.
120:212,13['  ]| The parlour was like$4$ most parlours.  Enlarged photographs of Mr and Mrs*Ellis,
120:212,14['  ]| the Red parents, in$4$ large pine frames, on$4$ the wall.  A handsome china
120:212,15['  ]| clock under a glass case on$4$ the mantelpiece, with flanking vases to$9$ match, on$4$
120:212,16['  ]| fawn-and-red woollen crochet mats.  An oval, rather curvy table in$4$ the
120:212,17['  ]| middle of the room, with the family Bible, and the meat under a fly-proof
120:212,18['  ]| wire cover.  The parlour was the coolest place for$4$ the meat.
120:212,19['  ]| Easu shifted the red obnoxity, wire cover and all, to$4$ the top of the cupboard
120:212,20['  ]| where some cups and saucers were displayed, and drew forth a demijohn of
120:212,21['  ]| spirit from the back of the horsehair sofa, in$4$ front of the window.
120:212,22['  ]| Mrs*Easu came in$5$ with the glasses.  She was a thin, pale-faced young
120:212,23['  ]| woman with big dark eyes and her hair in$4$ huge curling pins, and a hostile
120:212,24['  ]| bearing.  She took no$2$ notice of the visitors:  only let her big what-do-you-want
120:212,25['  ]| eyes pass over them with distaste beneath her bald forehead.  It was her fixed
120:212,26['  ]| belief that$3$ 
120:212,26@v   | whoever came to$4$ the house came to$9$ \get\ something, if they could.
120:212,27@v   | And they were not going to$9$ get it out of \her\.  
120:212,27['  ]| She made an alliance with Easu so$5#1$
120:212,28['  ]| far.  But her rather protruding teeth and her vindictive mouth showed that$3$
120:212,29['  ]| Easu would get as many bites as kisses.
120:212,30['  ]| She set the glasses from her hands on$5$ to$4$ the table and looked down at Easu
120:212,31['  ]| under her pale lashes.
120:212,32[V  ]| "What else do you want?"  
120:212,32['  ]| she asked rudely.
120:212,33[N  ]| "Nothing.  If I want anything I will$1$ holloa."
120:212,34['  ]| They seemed to$9$ be on$4$ terms of mutual rudeness.  She had been quite an
120:212,35['  ]| heiress:  brought Easu a thousand pounds.  But the way she said it ~~ a tharsand
120:212,36['  ]| parnds ~~ as if it was something absolutely you could not get beyond,
120:212,37['  ]| made even Easu writhe.  She was common, to$9$ put it commonly.  She spoke in$4$ a
120:213,01['  ]| common way, she thought in$4$ a common way, and acted in$4$ a common way.
120:213,02['  ]| But she had energy, and even a vulgar \9suffisance\.  She thought herself as good
120:213,03['  ]| as anybody, and a bit better, on$4$ the strength of the tharsand parnds!
120:213,04[V  ]| "It is not eddication as matters, it is munney!"  
120:213,04['  ]| she said blatantly to$4$ Lennie.
120:213,05[V  ]| "At your age you ought to$9$ have somethink in$4$ the bank."
120:213,06['  ]| He of course hated the sight of her after that$6#2$.  She had looked at him with a
120:213,07['  ]| certain superciliousness and contempt in$4$ her conceited brown eyes, because
120:213,08['  ]| he had no$2$ money and was supposed to$9$ be clever.  He never forgave her.
120:213,09@v   | But what did she care?  
120:213,09['  ]| She jerked up$5$ her sharp-toothed mouth, and sailed
120:213,10['  ]| away.  
120:213,10@v   | She was not going to$9$ be put down by$4$ any penniless snobs.  The Ellises!
120:213,11@v   | Who$6#2$ were the Ellises?  Yes, indeed!  They thought themselves so$5#1$ superior.
120:213,12@v   | Could \they\ draw a tharsand parnd?  Pah!
120:213,13['  ]| She felt a particularly spiteful, almost vindictive scorn of Jack.  
120:213,13@v   | He was
120:213,14@v   | somebody, was he?  Ha!  What was he \worth\?  That$6#2$ was the point.  How much
120:213,15@v   | \munney\ did he reckon he had got?  
120:213,15[V  ]| "If you want me to$9$ think anythink of you, you
120:213,16[V  ]| mun show me your bank-book," 
120:213,16['  ]| she said.
120:213,17['  ]| Easu listened and grinned, and said nothing to$4$ all this.  But she had a fiery
120:213,18['  ]| temper of her own, and they went for$4$ one another like$4$ two devils.  She was not
120:213,19['  ]| to$9$ be daunted, she was not.  She had her virtues too.  She had no$2$ method, but
120:213,20['  ]| she was clean.  The place was forever in$4$ a muddle, but she was always
120:213,21['  ]| cleaning it, almost vindictively, as if the shine on$4$ the door-knob reflected
120:213,22['  ]| some of the tharsand parnd.  Even the baby was turned out and viciously
120:213,23['  ]| cleaned once a day.  But in$4$ the intervals it groped where it would.  As for$4$
120:213,24['  ]| herself, she was a sight this morning, with her hair in$4$ huge iron waving-pins,
120:213,25['  ]| and her forehead and her teeth both sticking out.  She looked a sight to$9$
120:213,26['  ]| shudder at.  But wait.  Wait till she was dressed up$5$ and turning out in$4$ the
120:213,27['  ]| buggy, in$4$ a coat and skirt of thick brown cord silk with orange and black
120:213,28['  ]| braiding, and a hugely feathered hat, with huge floating ostrich feathers, an
120:213,29['  ]| orange one and a brown one.  And her teeth sticking out and a huge brooch
120:213,30['  ]| of a lump of gold set with pearls and diamonds, and a great gold chain.  And
120:213,31['  ]| the baby, in$4$ a silk cape with pink ribbons, and a frilled silk bonnet of alternate
120:213,32['  ]| pink and white ruches, mercilessly held against her chains and brooches!
120:213,33['  ]| Wait!
120:213,34['  ]| Therefore, when Jack glanced at her from a strange distance, she tossed
120:213,35['  ]| her bald forehead with the curling*irons, and thought to$4$ herself
120:213,35@v   | "You can
120:213,36@v   | look, Master*Jack*Nobody.  And you can look again, next Sunday, when I have
120:213,37@v   | got my proper things on$5$.  \Then\ you will$1$ see who$6#1$ has got the munney!"
120:213,38['  ]| She seemed to$9$ think that$3$ her Sunday gorgeousness absolutely obliterated
120:213,39['  ]| the grimness of her week of curling*pins.  
120:213,39@z   | "Six days shalt thou labour in$4$ thy
120:213,40@z   | curling*irons."  
120:213,40['  ]| She lived in$4$ them.  They kept her hair out of the way and
120:213,41['  ]| saved her having to$9$ do it up$5$ all the time.
120:213,42['  ]| And it may be that$3$ Easu never really looked at her in$4$ her teeth and pins.
120:213,43['  ]| That$6#2$ was not the real Sarah*Ann.  The real Sarah*Ann swayed with ostrich
120:213,44['  ]| feathers; brown silk, brown and orange feathers, reddish hair, brown eyes,
120:213,45['  ]| pale skin, and a stiff, militant, vulgar bearing that$6#1$ was not going to$9$ let \anybody\
120:214,01['  ]| put it over \her\.  
120:214,01[V  ]| "They can not put \me\ down, whoever they are!"  
120:214,01['  ]| she asserted.  
120:214,01[V  ]| "I
120:214,02[V  ]| consider myself equal to$4$ the best, and perhaps a little better."
120:214,03['  ]| This Easu heard and saw with curious gratification.  
120:214,03@n   | This was his Sarah*Ann.
120:214,04@n   |
120:214,05['  ]| None the less, he was no$2$ fool.  He saw the baffled, surprised look Jack
120:214,06['  ]| turned upon$4$ this grisly young woman in$4$ curlers and teeth, as if he could not
120:214,07['  ]| quite enter her in$4$ the class of human beings.  And Easu was enough of an Ellis
120:214,08['  ]| to$9$ know what the look meant.  It was a silent "Good God!"  And no$2$ man,
120:214,09['  ]| when his wife enters the room, cares to$9$ hear another man's horrified ejaculation:
120:214,10['  ]| "Good God!"  at the sight of her.
120:214,11['  ]| Easu wanted his wife to$9$ be common.  Nevertheless, with the anomalousness
120:214,12['  ]| of human beings, it humiliated him and put acid in$4$ his blood.
120:214,13[N  ]| "Have a jorum!"  
120:214,13['  ]| said Easu to$4$ Tom.
120:214,14[V  ]| "I should think you are not goin' to$9$ set down drinkin' at this time of day," 
120:214,14['  ]| she
120:214,15['  ]| said, in$4$ her loud, common, interfering voice.
120:214,16[N  ]| "What is the time of day to$4$ you?"  
120:214,16['  ]| asked Easu acidly, as he filled Tom's glass.
120:214,17[H  ]| "We can not stop.  Ma will$1$ be expecting us back," 
120:214,17['  ]| said Tom.
120:214,18['  ]| Easu silently filled Jack's glass, and the wife went out, banging the door.
120:214,19['  ]| Immediately she fell upon$4$ the baby and began to$9$ vituperate the little animal
120:214,20['  ]| for$4$ its dirt.  The men could not hear themselves speak.
120:214,21['  ]| But Easu lifted up$5$ his chin and poured the liquor down his throat.  He had
120:214,22['  ]| shaved his beard, and had only three days of yellowish stubble.  He smacked
120:214,23['  ]| his lips as he set down his glass, and looked at the two boys with a sarcastic,
120:214,24['  ]| gloating look.
120:214,25[N  ]| "Find a few changes, eh?"  
120:214,25['  ]| he observed.
120:214,26[H  ]| "Just a few."
120:214,27[N  ]| "How does the place look?"
120:214,28[H  ]| "All right."
120:214,29[N  ]| "Make a pile up$4$ North?"
120:214,30[H  ]| "No$7$."
120:214,31['  ]| Easu grinned slowly.
120:214,32[N  ]| "Thought you did not need to$9$, eh?"  
120:214,32['  ]| he asked maliciously.
120:214,33[H  ]| "Did not worry myself," 
120:214,33['  ]| said Tom.
120:214,34[N  ]| "Jack*Grant come in$5$ for$4$ a fortune?"  
120:214,34['  ]| Easu asked, looking at Jack.
120:214,35[A  ]| "No$7$," 
120:214,35['  ]| said Jack coldly.  There was something about Easu's vulgar, taunting
120:214,36['  ]| eyes, which$6#1$ he could not stand.
120:214,37[N  ]| "Oh, you have not!"  
120:214,37['  ]| The pleased sneer was unbearable.
120:214,38[N  ]| "How is Ma?"  
120:214,38['  ]| asked Easu.
120:214,39[H  ]| "All right," 
120:214,39['  ]| said Tom, surprised.
120:214,40[N  ]| "Do not see much of her now," 
120:214,40['  ]| said Easu.
120:214,41[H  ]| "No$7$, I saw the gate was blocked up$5$," 
120:214,41['  ]| said Tom.
120:214,42[N  ]| "Looks like$3$ she blocked the wrong gate up$5$."
120:214,43[H  ]| "How?"
120:214,44[N  ]| "How?  Well, do not you think she would better have blocked up$5$ the gate over to$4$
120:214,45[N  ]| Pink-eye*Percy's place?"  
120:214,45['  ]| Easu was smiling with thin, gloating lips.
120:215,01[H  ]| "Why?"
120:215,02[N  ]| "Why?  Do not you know?"
120:215,03[H  ]| "What?"
120:215,04[N  ]| "Do not you know about Monica?"
120:215,05['  ]| Jack's blood stood still for$4$ a moment, and death entered his soul again, to$9$
120:215,06['  ]| stay.
120:215,07[H  ]| "No$7$.  What?"
120:215,08[N  ]| "Did not Old*George say nothing to$4$ you in$4$ Perth?"
120:215,09[H  ]| "No$7$!"  
120:215,09['  ]| said Tom, becoming sullen and dangerous.
120:215,10[N  ]| "Well, that$6#2$ is funny now!  And Aunt*Alice said nothing?"
120:215,11[H  ]| "No$7$!  What about?"
120:215,12['  ]| Easu was smiling gloatingly, in$4$ silence, as if he had something very good.
120:215,13[N  ]| "Well, that$6#2$ is funny now!  think of your getting right here, and not having
120:215,14[N  ]| heard a thing!  I should not have thought it possible."
120:215,15['  ]| Tom was going white under his tan.
120:215,16[H  ]| "What is amiss, Red?"  
120:215,16['  ]| he said curtly.
120:215,17[N  ]| "To$9$ think as you  have not heard!  Why it was the talk of the place.  Ross
120:215,18[N  ]| heard all about it in$4$ Perth.  Did not you come across him there?  He is been in$4$
120:215,19[N  ]| the Force quite a while now."
120:215,20[H  ]| "No$7$!  What was it he heard about?"
120:215,21[N  ]| "Why, about Monica."
120:215,22[H  ]| "What about her?"
120:215,23[N  ]| "Do you mean to$9$ say you do not know?"
120:215,24[H  ]| "I tell you I do not know."
120:215,25[N  ]| "Well!"  
120:215,25['  ]| and Easu smiled with a curious, poisonous satisfaction.  
120:215,25[N  ]| "I do not
120:215,26[N  ]| know as I want to$9$ be the one to$9$ tell you."
120:215,27['  ]| There was a moment's dead silence.  The sun was setting.
120:215,28[H  ]| "What have you got to$9$ say?"  
120:215,28['  ]| asked Tom, his face set and blank, and his
120:215,29['  ]| mouth taking on$5$ the lipless, Australian look.
120:215,30[N  ]| "Funny thing nobody has told you.  Why, it happened six or seven months
120:215,31[N  ]| since."
120:215,32['  ]| This was received in$4$ dead silence.
120:215,33[N  ]| "She went off with Percy when the baby was a month old."
120:215,34['  ]| Again there was nothing but dead silence.
120:215,35[H  ]| "Mean she married Pink-eye*Percy?"  
120:215,35['  ]| asked Tom, in$4$ a muffled tone.
120:215,36[N  ]| "I dunno about marryin' him.  They say he has got a wife or two already:  legal
120:215,37[N  ]| and otherwise.  All I know is they cleared out a month after the baby was
120:215,38[N  ]| born, and went down south."
120:215,39['  ]| Still dead silence from the other two.  The room was full of golden light.
120:215,40['  ]| Jack was looking at the fly-dirts and the lamp-black on$4$ the ceiling.  He was
120:215,41['  ]| sitting in$4$ a horse-hair arm-chair, and the broken springs were uncomfortable,
120:215,42['  ]| and the horse-hair scratched his wrist.  Otherwise he felt vacant, and, in$4$
120:215,43['  ]| a deathly way, remote.
120:215,44[H  ]| "You are minding what you are saying?"  
120:215,44['  ]| came Tom's empty voice.
120:215,45[N  ]| "Minding what I am saying!"  
120:215,45['  ]| echoed Easu cunningly.  
120:215,45[N  ]| "\I\ did not want to$9$ tell
120:216,01[N  ]| you.  It was you who$6#1$ asked me."
120:216,02[A  ]| "Was the baby Percy's baby?"  
120:216,02['  ]| asked Jack.
120:216,03[N  ]| "I should say so$5#2$," 
120:216,03['  ]| Easu replied, stumbling.  
120:216,03[N  ]| "I never asked her, myself.
120:216,04[N  ]| They were all thick with Percy at that$6#2$ time, and I was married with a family of
120:216,05[N  ]| my own.  Why, I have not been over to$4$ Wandoo for$4$ ~~ for$4$ ~~ for$4$ close on$4$ two
120:216,06[N  ]| years, I should think."
120:216,07[H  ]| "That$6#2$ is what was wrong with Ma!"  
120:216,07['  ]| Tom was saying, in$4$ a dull voice, to$4$
120:216,08['  ]| himself.
120:216,09[N  ]| "I wonder Old*George or Mary did not prepare you," 
120:216,09['  ]| said Easu.  
120:216,09[N  ]| "They both
120:216,10[N  ]| came down before the baby came.  But seemingly Old*George could not do
120:216,11[N  ]| nothing, Percy confessing he was married, and trying to$9$ say he was not to$9$
120:216,12[N  ]| blame.  However, he has run off with Monica all right.  Ma had a letter from her
120:216,13[N  ]| from Albany, to$9$ say there was no$2$ need to$9$ worry, Percy was playin' the
120:216,14[N  ]| gentleman."
120:216,15[A  ]| "She never cared for$4$ him," 
120:216,15['  ]| Jack cried.
120:216,16[N  ]| "I dunno about that$6#2$.  Seems she has been mad about him all the time.  Maybe
120:216,17[N  ]| she waited for$4$ you to$9$ come back.  I dunno!  I tell you, I have never been over to$4$
120:216,18[N  ]| Wandoo for$4$ nigh on$4$ two years."
120:216,19['  ]| Jack could not bear any more.  
120:216,19@a   | The golden light had gone out of the room,
120:216,20@a   | the sun was under that$6#2$ ridge ~~ that$6#2$ ridge ~~
120:216,21[A  ]| "Let us get, Tom!"  
120:216,21['  ]| said Jack rising to$4$ his feet.
120:216,22['  ]| They stumbled out of the house, and went home in$4$ silence, through the
120:216,23['  ]| dusk.  
120:216,23@a   | Again the world had caved in$5$, and they were walking through the
120:216,24@a   | ruins.
120:216,25['  ]| Ma was upstairs when they got home, but Kate had got the tea on$4$ the
120:216,26['  ]| table, and Lennie was in$5$.  He was a tall, thin, silent, sensitive youth.
120:216,27[J  ]| "Hello, you two wanderin' Jews!"  
120:216,27['  ]| he said.
120:216,28[X  ]| "Hello, Len!"
120:216,29[J  ]| "Come and have your teas."
120:216,30['  ]| Lennie was like$4$ the head of the house.  They ate their meal in$4$ silence.
120:216,00[U  ]| <ii>
120:216,31['  ]| Tom and Jack and Lennie still slept in$4$ the cubby, but Og and Magog had
120:216,32['  ]| moved indoors.  The three of them lay in$4$ the dark, without sleeping.
120:216,33[H  ]| "Say, young Len," 
120:216,33['  ]| said Tom at length.  
120:216,33[H  ]| "What was you after, letting Monica
120:216,34[H  ]| get mixed up$5$ with that$6#2$ Pink-eyed*Percy?"
120:216,35[J  ]| "Me?  What was I after?  How could I be after her every minute.  She
120:216,36[J  ]| snapped my 'ead off if I looked at her.  What for$4$ did you and Jack stop away all
120:216,37[J  ]| that$6#2$ time, and never write a word to$4$ nobody?  Blame me, all right!  But you go
120:216,38[J  ]| 'avin 'igh jinks in$4$ the Never-Never, and nobody says a word to$4$ you.  \You\ never
120:216,39[J  ]| did nothing wrong, did you?  And \you\ kep' an eye on$4$ the fam'ly, did not you?
120:216,40[J  ]| And it is only me to$9$ blame.  Of course!  It would be!  But what about yourselves?"
120:216,41['  ]| This outburst was received in$4$ silence.  Then a queer, sullen snake reared its
120:217,01['  ]| had haughtily in$4$ Jack's soul.
120:217,02[A  ]| "I should not have thought she would have cared for$4$ Percy," 
120:217,02['  ]| said he.
120:217,03[J  ]| "No$2$ more would nobody," 
120:217,03['  ]| replied Len.  
120:217,03[J  ]| "You never know what women is
120:217,04[J  ]| up$5$ to$4$.  Give me a steady woman, Lord, I pray.  Because for$4$ the last year
120:217,05[J  ]| Monica was not right in$4$ her mind, that$6#2$ is what I say.  It was not Percy's fault.  It
120:217,06[J  ]| was she made him.  She made him as soft as grease about her.  Percy is not bad,
120:217,07[J  ]| he is not.  But women can make him as soft as grease.  And I knows what that$6#2$
120:217,08[J  ]| means myself.  Either there should not be no$2$ men and women, or they should
120:217,09[J  ]| be kept apart till they are pitched into the same pen, to$9$ breed."
120:217,10['  ]| Tom, with Honesuckle Lucy on$4$ his conscience, said never a word.
120:217,11[A  ]| "Is it true that$3$ Percy has got a wife already out east?"  
120:217,11['  ]| asked Jack.
120:217,12[J  ]| "He says he has.  But he wrote to$9$ find out if she was dead.  At first he said 
120:217,12@w   | he
120:217,13@w   | was not to$9$ blame.  
120:217,13[J  ]| Then he said 
120:217,13@w   | he was but he could not marry her.  
120:217,13[J  ]| And Monica
120:217,14[J  ]| like$4$ a wild cat at us all.  She would let nobody write and tell you.  She went over
120:217,15[J  ]| to$4$ Reds, but Easu had just got married, and Sarah*Ann threatened to$9$ lay her
120:217,16[J  ]| out.  Then she turned on$4$ Percy.  I tell you, she skeered me.  The phosphorus
120:217,17[J  ]| came out of her eyes like$4$ a wild cat's.  She is bewitched or something.  Or else
120:217,18[J  ]| possessed of a devil.  That$6#2$ is what I think she is.  Though I need not talk, for$3$
120:217,19[J  ]| maybe I am myself.  Oh, mates, leave me alone, I am sick of it all.  Lemme go to$4$
120:217,20[J  ]| sleep."
120:217,21[A  ]| "What did she go over to$4$ Easu's for$4$?"
120:217,22[J  ]| "God knows.  She had been nosing round with Easu, till Ma got made and put a
120:217,23[J  ]| stop to$4$ it.  But that$6#2$ is a good while since.  A good while afore Easu married the
120:217,24[J  ]| lovely Sarah*Ann, with her rows of cartridges on$4$ her forehead.  Oh, Cripes,
120:217,25[J  ]| \marriage\!  Leave me alone, I tell you."
120:217,26[A  ]| "Funny she should go to$4$ Easu's, if she was struck on$4$ Percy," 
120:217,26['  ]| said Jack.
120:217,27[J  ]| "Do not make me think of it, sonny!"  
120:217,27['  ]| came Len's voice.  
120:217,27[J  ]| "She went round like$4$
120:217,28[J  ]| a cat who$6#1$ is goin' to$9$ have kittens, and nobody knew what was amiss with her.
120:217,29[J  ]| Oh, Jehosaphat!  Talk about bein' born in$4$ sin.  I should think we are.  But say,
120:217,30[J  ]| Jack!  Do you suppose the Lord gets awful upset, whether Monica has a baby
120:217,31[J  ]| or not?  I do not believe He does.  And I do not believe Jesus either turns a hair.  I
120:217,32[J  ]| do not believe he turns half a hair.  Yet we get into all this stew.  Tell you what,
120:217,33[J  ]| makes a chap sick of bein' a humin' bein'.  Wish I grew feathers, and was an
120:217,34[J  ]| emu."
120:217,35[A  ]| "Do not you bother," 
120:217,35['  ]| said Jack.
120:217,36[J  ]| "Not me,"  
120:217,36['  ]| said Len.  
120:217,36[J  ]| "I do not bother!  Anyhow, I know all about the parsley
120:217,37[J  ]| bed, and I do not care, I would rather know and have done with it.  It has got to$9$ come some
120:217,38[J  ]| time.  I am a collar horse, I am, like$3$ ol' Rackett said.  All right, let me be one.  Let
120:217,39[J  ]| me be one, and pull me guts out.  Might just as well do that$6#2$, as be a sick outlaw
120:217,40[J  ]| like$4$ Rackett, or a softy like$4$ Percy.  Leave me alone.  I have got the collar on$5$, and the
120:217,41[J  ]| load behind, and I will$1$ pull it out if I pulls me guts out.  That$6#2$ is the past, present
120:217,42[J  ]| and future of Lennie."
120:217,43[A  ]| "Where is Rackett?"
120:217,44[J  ]| "Hanged if I know.  Do not matter where he is.  He wanted to$9$ educate me and
120:217,45[J  ]| make a gentleman of me.  
120:217,45@q   | Else I would be nothing but a cart-'oss, 
120:217,45[J  ]| he said.  Well, I
120:218,01[J  ]| am nothing but a cart-'oss.  But if I enjoys pullin' me guts out, let me.  I enjoys
120:218,02[J  ]| it all right."
120:218,03['  ]| Tom lay in$4$ silence in$4$ the dark, and felt scared.  He hated having to$9$ face
120:218,04['  ]| things.  He hated taking a long view.  
120:218,04@z   | Sufficient unto the day is the evil
120:218,05@z   | thereof, 
120:218,05['  ]| was his profound conviction.  He hated even to$9$ look round the next
120:218,06['  ]| corner.
120:218,07[J  ]| "Say, Jack," 
120:218,07['  ]| came Lennie's voice again.  
120:218,07[J  ]| "You always turns up$5$ like$4$ a silver
120:218,08[J  ]| lining.  I got your cheques all right.  Fifty-seven pound.  That$6#2$ is only a pair of
120:218,09[J  ]| socks, that$6#2$ is, compared to$4$ Gran's store.  I had to$9$ have a laugh over that$6#2$
120:218,10[J  ]| stockin', you are the angel that$6#1$ stood in$4$ Jacob's doorway and looked like$4$ a man,
120:218,11[J  ]| you are.  I would love it if you would come and live with me and Ruthie."
120:218,12['  ]| But Jack was thinking his own thoughts.  It had come over him that$3$ 
120:218,12@a   | it was
120:218,13@a   | Easu who$6#1$ had betrayed Monica.  The picture of her wandering across like$4$ a
120:218,14@a   | cat that$6#1$ is going to$9$ have kittens, to$4$ the Reds' place, and facing that$6#2$ fearful,
120:218,15@a   | common Sarah*Ann, and Easu grinning and looking on$5$, made his spirit turn
120:218,16@a   | to$4$ steel.  Pink-eye*Percy was not the father of that$6#2$ baby.  Percy was as soft as
120:218,17@a   | wax.  Monica would never have fallen for$4$ him.  She had simply made use of
120:218,18@a   | him.  The baby was Easu's.
120:218,19[A  ]| "Was the baby a girl or a boy?"  
120:218,19['  ]| he asked.
120:218,20[J  ]| "A girl."
120:218,21[A  ]| "Did it look like$4$ Percy?"
120:218,22[J  ]| "Not it.  It did not have any of Percy's goo-goo brown eyes or anything.  Ma
120:218,23[J  ]| said 
120:218,23@i   | it was the spitten image of Harry when he was born."
120:218,00[U  ]| <iii>
120:218,24['  ]| Jack decided what he would do.  
120:218,24@a   | In$4$ the morning he would take the new horse
120:218,25@a   | and set off south, to$4$ Albany.  He would see Monica and ask her.  Anyhow, he
120:218,26@a   | would see her.
120:218,27['  ]| He was up$5$ at dawn, saddling his horse.  He told Tom of his plan, and Tom
120:218,28['  ]| merely remarked:
120:218,29[H  ]| "It is up$5$ to$4$ you, mate."
120:218,30['  ]| Tom was relapsing at once into the stiff-faced, rather taciturn Australian
120:218,31['  ]| he had been before.  The settled life on$4$ the farm at once pulled him to$4$ earth,
120:218,32['  ]| the various calamities had brought him down with a bump.
120:218,33['  ]| So$3$ Jack rode off almost unnoticed, with a blanket strapped behind his
120:218,34['  ]| saddle, and a flat water-bottle, a pistol in$4$ his belt, and a hatchet and a little
120:218,35['  ]| bag of food tied to$4$ the front saddle strings.  Something made him turn his
120:218,36['  ]| horse past the place where he had fought Easu, and along the bush trail to$4$
120:218,37['  ]| the Reds' place.
120:218,38['  ]| The sun had come up$5$ hot out of a pink, dusty dawn.  In$4$ an hour it would be
120:218,39['  ]| blazing like$4$ a fiend out of the bare blue heavens.  Meanwhile it was still cool,
120:218,40['  ]| there was still a faint coolness on$4$ the parched dry earth, whose very grass was
120:218,41['  ]| turning into yellowish dust.  Jack jogged along slowly, at a slow morning
120:219,01['  ]| jog-trot.  He was glad to$9$ be in$4$ the saddle again.
120:219,02['  ]| As he came down the track, he saw the blue smoke rising out of the
120:219,03['  ]| chimneys of Easu's house, and a dark movement away in$4$ one of the home
120:219,04['  ]| paddocks.  He got down for$4$ the gates, then rode on$5$, over to$4$ the paddock
120:219,05['  ]| fence, and sat there on$4$ his horse, watching Easu and Herbert and three
120:219,06['  ]| blacks, sorting out some steers from a bunch of about thirty cattle.  They were
120:219,07['  ]| running the steers through a gate to$4$ a smaller enclosure.
120:219,08['  ]| There was a good deal of yelling and shouting and running and confusion,
120:219,09['  ]| as the bunch of young cattle, a mixed little mob of all colours, blacks and
120:219,10['  ]| black-and-white and red and red-and-white, tossed and swayed, the young
120:219,11['  ]| cows breaking away and running nimbly on$4$ light feet, excited by$4$ the deep,
120:219,12['  ]| powerful lowing of the stock bull, which$6#1$ had wandered up$5$ to$4$ the outer
120:219,13['  ]| corner of the fence under a group of ragged gum-trees, and there stood
120:219,14['  ]| bellowing at the excitement that$6#1$ was going on$5$ in$4$ the next paddock.
120:219,15['  ]| Jack kept an eye on$4$ the bull, as he sat on$4$ his uneasy horse outside the shut
120:219,16['  ]| gate, watching.  Near*by, two more horses stood saddled and waiting.  One of
120:219,17['  ]| them was Easu's big black mare with the two white forefeet.  The other was a
120:219,18['  ]| thin roan, probably Herbert's horse.
120:219,19['  ]| Herbert was quite a man now:  tall and thin and broad, with a rather small
120:219,20['  ]| red face and dull fairish hair that$6#1$ stood up$5$ straight from his brow.  He was the
120:219,21['  ]| only one of the brothers left with Easu.  He was patient and did not pay any
120:219,22['  ]| attention to$4$ that$6#2$ scorpion of a Sarah*Ann.  Sam and Ross had cleared out at
120:219,23['  ]| the first sight of her.
120:219,24['  ]| It was Herbert who$6#1$ did most of the running.  Easu, who$6#1$ stood with his feet
120:219,25['  ]| apart, did most of the bossing ~~ he was never happy unless he was bossing,
120:219,26['  ]| and finding fault with somebody ~~ and the blacks did most of the holloaing.
120:219,27['  ]| Easu did not move much.  He seemed to$9$ have gone heavier, and where he
120:219,28['  ]| stood, with his feet apart and his bare arm waving, he seemed stuck, as if he
120:219,29['  ]| were inert.  
120:219,29@a   | This was unlike him.  He was always stiffish, but he used to$9$ be
120:219,30@a   | quick.  Now he seemed slow and wooden in$4$ his movements, his body had
120:219,31@a   | gone inert, the life had gone out of it, and he could only shout and jeer.  He
120:219,32@a   | used to$9$ have a certain flame of life, that$6#1$ made him handsome, even if you
120:219,33@a   | hated him.  A certain conceit and daring, inside all his bullying.  Now the
120:219,34@a   | flame had gone, the conceit and daring had sunk, he was only ugly and
120:219,35@a   | defeated, common, and a little humiliated.  He was getting fat, and it did not
120:219,36@a   | suit him at all.
120:219,37['  ]| He glanced round, when Jack rode up$5$, and it was evident that$3$ he hated the
120:219,38['  ]| intrusion.  Herbert had waved his arm.  Herbert still felt a certain
120:219,39['  ]| gratitude ~~ and the blacks had all stopped for$4$ a moment to$9$ stare.  But Easu
120:219,40['  ]| shouted them on$5$.
120:219,41['  ]| At last the sorting out was done, and the bars put up$5$.  The bull went
120:219,42['  ]| bellowing along the far fence.  Herbert came striding to$4$ the gate, his smallish
120:219,43['  ]| red face shining, and Jack got down to$9$ greet him.  The two shook hands, and
120:219,44['  ]| Herbert said:
120:219,45[P  ]| "Glad to$9$ see you back."
120:220,01['  ]| He was the first to$9$ say he was glad to$9$ see Jack back.  Even Len had not said
120:220,02['  ]| it.  The two men stood exchanging awkward sentences beside the horse.
120:220,03['  ]| Easu, too, came through the gate.  He looked grudgingly at Jack and at
120:220,04['  ]| Jack's horse.  Jack thought 
120:220,04@a   | how ugly he was, now his face had gone fatter and
120:220,05@a   | his mouth with its thin, jeering line looked mean.  The alert bird-look had
120:220,06@a   | gone, he was heavy, and consumed with grudging.  His very healthiness
120:220,07@a   | looked heavy, a bit dead.  His light blue eyes stared and pretended to$9$ smile,
120:220,08@a   | but the smile was a grudging sneer.
120:220,09[N  ]| "Where did you get your 'oss?"
120:220,10[A  ]| "From Jimmy*Short, in$4$ Perth."
120:220,11[N  ]| "Bit long in$4$ the barrel.  Making a trip, are you?"
120:220,12['  ]| And Easu looked with his pale blue eyes straight and sneering into Jack's
120:220,13['  ]| eyes, and smiled with his grudging, mean mouth.
120:220,14['  ]| Jack noticed that$3$ 
120:220,14@a   | Easu had begun to$9$ belly, inside his slack black trousers.
120:220,15@a   | He was no$2$ longer the spruce, straight fellow.  
120:220,15['  ]| Easu saw the glance, and was
120:220,16['  ]| again humiliated.  He himself hated his growing bulk.  He looked a second
120:220,17['  ]| time, into Jack's eyes, furtively, before he said:
120:220,18[N  ]| "Find out if it was right what I was tellin' you?"
120:220,19['  ]| Jack was ready for$4$ the insult, and did not answer.  He turned to$4$ Herbert,
120:220,20['  ]| asking about Joe*Low, who$6#1$ had been a pal of Herbert's.  Joe*Low also was
120:220,21['  ]| married, and had gone down Busselton way.  Jack asked for$4$ his directions,
120:220,22['  ]| saying perhaps he might be able to$9$ call on$4$ him.
120:220,23[B  ]| "What, are you goin' south?"  
120:220,23['  ]| put in$5$ Easu.
120:220,24['  ]| Jack looked at him.  
120:220,24@a   | It was impossible not to$9$ see the slack look of defeat in$4$
120:220,25@a   | Easu's face.  Something had defeated him, leaving him all sneering and acid
120:220,26['  ]| and heavy.  Again Jack did not answer.
120:220,27[N  ]| "What did you say?"  
120:220,27['  ]| Easu persisted, advancing a little insolently.
120:220,28[A  ]| "What about?"  
120:220,29[N  ]| "I asked if you was goin' south."
120:220,30[A  ]| "That$6#2$ is my business, where I am going."
120:220,31[N  ]| "Of course it is," 
120:220,31['  ]| said Easu with a  sneer and a grin.  
120:220,31[N  ]| "You do not think
120:220,32[N  ]| anyone wants to$9$ get ahead of you, do you?"  
120:220,32['  ]| He stood with a faint, sneering
120:220,33['  ]| smile on$4$ his face, malevolent with impotence.  
120:220,33[N  ]| "You will$1$ do Percy a lot of hurt,
120:220,34[N  ]| I will$1$ bet.  I would not like$1$ to$9$ be Percy when you turn up$5$."  
120:220,34['  ]| And he looked with a
120:220,35['  ]| grin at Herbert.  Herbert grinned faintly in$4$ echo.
120:220,36[A  ]| "I should think, whatever Percy is, he would not want to$9$ be you," 
120:220,36['  ]| said Jack,
120:220,37['  ]| going white at the gills with anger, but speaking with calm superiority,
120:220,38['  ]| because he knew that$6#2$ enraged Easu most.
120:220,39[N  ]| "What is that$6#2$?"  
120:220,39['  ]| cried Easu, the grin flying out of his face at once, and
120:220,40['  ]| leaving it stiff and dangerous.
120:220,41[A  ]| "I should think Percy would not want to$9$ be you, let him be what he may in$4$
120:220,42[A  ]| himself,"  
120:220,42['  ]| said Jack, in$4$ the cold, clear, English voice which$6#1$ he knew infuriated
120:220,43['  ]| Easu unbearably.
120:220,44['  ]| Easu searched Jack's face intently with his pale blue eyes.
120:220,45[N  ]| "How is that$6#2$?"  
120:220,45['  ]| he asked curtly.
120:221,01['  ]| Jack stared at the red, heavy face with the smallish eyes and thought to$4$
120:221,02['  ]| himself:  
120:221,02@a   | "You pig!  You intolerable white-fat pig!"  
120:221,02['  ]| But aloud he said nothing.
120:221,03['  ]| Easu smiled a defeated grin, and strode away heavily to$4$ his horse.  He
120:221,04['  ]| unhitched, swung heavily into the saddle, and moved away, then at a little
120:221,05['  ]| distance reined in$5$ to$9$ hear what Jack and Herbert were talking about.  He
120:221,06['  ]| could not go.
120:221,07['  ]| Herbert was giving Jack directions, how to$9$ find Joe*Low down Busselton
120:221,08['  ]| way.  Then he sent various items of news to$4$ his old pal.  But he asked Jack no$2$
120:221,09['  ]| questions, and was careful to$9$ avoid any kind of enquiry concerning Jack's
120:221,10['  ]| business.
120:221,11['  ]| Easu sat on$4$ his black horse a little way off, listening.  He had a rope and an
120:221,12['  ]| axe tied to$4$ his saddle.  Presumably he was going into the bush.  Herbert was
120:221,13['  ]| asking questions about the North-West, about the cattle stations and the new
120:221,14['  ]| mines.  He talked as if he would like$1$ to$9$ talk all day.  And Jack answered freely,
120:221,15['  ]| laughing easily and making a joke of everything.  They spoke of Perth, and
120:221,16['  ]| Jack told how Tom and he had been at the Governor's ball a few nights ago,
120:221,17['  ]| and what a change it was from the North-West, and how Tom had enjoyed
120:221,18['  ]| himself.  Herbert listened, impressed.
120:221,19[P  ]| "Gosh!  That$6#2$ is something to$9$ rag old Tom about!"  
120:221,19['  ]| he said.
120:221,20[N  ]| "\When you have done gassing there\!"  
120:221,20['  ]| called Easu.
120:221,21['  ]| Jack turned and looked at him.
120:221,22[A  ]| "You do not have to$9$ wait," 
120:221,22['  ]| he said easily, as if to$4$ a servant.
120:221,23@a   | There was really something about Easu now that$6#1$ suggested a servant.  
120:221,23['  ]| He
120:221,24['  ]| went suddenly yellow with anger.
120:221,25[N  ]| "What is that$6#2$?"  
120:221,25['  ]| he said, moving his horse a few paces forward.
120:221,26['  ]| And Jack, also white at the gills, but affecting the same ease, repeated
120:221,27['  ]| distinctly and easily, as if to$4$ a man servant:
120:221,28[A  ]| "We are talking, you do not have to$9$ wait."
120:221,29['  ]| There was no$2$ answer to$4$ this insult.  Easu remained stock motionless on$4$ his
120:221,30['  ]| horse for$4$ a few moments.  
120:221,30@a   | Was he going to$9$ have to swallow it?
120:221,31['  ]| Jack turned laughing to$4$ Herbert, saying:
120:221,32[A  ]| "I have got several things to$9$ tell you about old Tom."
120:221,33['  ]| But he glanced up$5$ quickly.  Easu was kicking his horse, and it was dancing
120:221,34['  ]| before it would take a direction.  Herbert gave a loud, inarticulate cry.  Jack
120:221,35['  ]| turned quickly to$4$ his own horse, to$9$ put his foot in$4$ the stirrup.  Just as quickly
120:221,36['  ]| he refrained, swung round, drew his pistol, and cocked it.  Easu, once more a
120:221,37['  ]| horseman, was kicking his restive horse forward, holding the small axe in$4$ his
120:221,38['  ]| right hand, the reins in$4$ his left.  His face was livid, and looked like$4$ the face of
120:221,39['  ]| one returning from the dead.  He came bearing down on$4$ Jack and Herbert,
120:221,40['  ]| like$4$ Death returning from the dead, the axe held back at arm's length, ready
120:221,41['  ]| for$4$ the swing, half urging, half holding his horse, so$3$ that$3$ it danced strangely
120:221,42['  ]| nearer.  Jack stood with the pistol ready, his back to$4$ his own horse, that$6#1$ was
120:221,43['  ]| tossing its head nervously.
120:221,44[P  ]| "Look out!"  
120:221,44['  ]| cried Herbert, suddenly jumping at the bit of Jack's horse, in$4$
120:221,45['  ]| terror, and making it start back, with a thudding of hoofs.
120:222,01['  ]| But Jack did not move.  He stood with his pistol ready, his eyes on$4$ Easu.
120:222,02['  ]| Easu's horse was snaffling and jerking, twisting, trying to$9$ get round, and
120:222,03['  ]| Easu was forcing it slowly forward.  He had on$5$ his death face.  He held the axe
120:222,04['  ]| at arm's length, backward, and with his pale-blue, fixed death eyes he
120:222,05['  ]| watched Jack, who$6#1$ stood there on$4$ the ground.  So$3$ he advanced, waiting for$4$
120:222,06['  ]| the moment to$9$ swing the axe, fixing part of his will$0$ on$4$ the curvetting horse,
120:222,07['  ]| which$6#1$ he forced on$5$.
120:222,08['  ]| Jack, in$4$ a sort of trance, fixed Easu's death-face in$4$ the middle of the
120:222,09['  ]| forehead.  But he was watching with every pore of his body.
120:222,10['  ]| Suddenly he saw him begin to$9$ heave in$4$ the stirrups, and on$4$ that$6#2$ instant he
120:222,11['  ]| fired at the mystic place in$4$ Easu's forehead, under his old hat, at the same
120:222,12['  ]| time springing back.  And in$4$ that$6#2$ self-same instant he saw two things:  part of
120:222,13['  ]| Easu's forehead seemed to$9$ shift mystically open, and the axe, followed by$4$
120:222,14['  ]| Easu's whole body, crashed at him as he sprang back.  He went down in$4$ the
120:222,15['  ]| universal crash, and for$4$ a moment his consciousness was dark and eternal.
120:222,16['  ]| Then he wriggled to$4$ his feet, and ran, as Herbert was running, to$4$ the black
120:222,17['  ]| horse, which$6#1$ was dancing in$4$ an agony of terror, Easu's right foot having
120:222,18['  ]| caught in$4$ the stirrup, the body rolling horribly on$4$ the ground.
120:222,19['  ]| He caught the horse, which$6#1$ was shying off from Herbert, and raised his
120:222,20['  ]| right hand to$9$ take the bridle.  To$4$ his further horror and astonishment, he saw
120:222,21['  ]| his hand all blood, and his fore finger gone.  But he clutched the bridle of the
120:222,22['  ]| horse with his maimed hand, then changed to$4$ his left hand, and stood
120:222,23['  ]| looking in$4$ chagrin and horror at the bloody stup of his finger, which$6#1$ was
120:222,24['  ]| just beginning in$4$ a distant sort of way, to$9$ hurt.
120:222,25[P  ]| "My God, he is dead!"  
120:222,25['  ]| came the high hysterical yell from Herbert, on$4$ the
120:222,26['  ]| other side of the horse, and Jack let go of the bridle again, to$9$ look.
120:222,27['  ]| It was too obvious.  The big, ugly, inert bulk of Easu lay crumpled on$4$ the
120:222,28['  ]| ground, part of the forehead shot away.  Jack looked twice, then looked away
120:222,29['  ]| again.  A black had caught his horse, and tied it to$4$ the fence.  Another black
120:222,30['  ]| was running up$5$.  A dog came panting excitedly up$5$, sniffing and licking the
120:222,31['  ]| blood.  Herbert, beside himself, stood helpless, repeating:  
120:222,31[P  ]| "He is dead!  He is
120:222,32[P  ]| dead!  My God, he is dead!  He is."
120:222,33['  ]| Then he gave a yell, and swooped at the dog, as it began to$9$ lick the blood.
120:222,34['  ]| Jack, after once more looking round, walked away.  He saw his pistol lying
120:222,35['  ]| on$4$ the ground, so$3$ he picked it up$5$ and put it in$4$ his belt, although it was bloody,
120:222,36['  ]| and had a cut where the axe had struck it.  Then he walked across to$4$ his horse,
120:222,37['  ]| and unhitched the bridle from the fence.  But before he mounted, he took his
120:222,38['  ]| handkerchief and tied it round his bleeding hand, which$6#1$ was beginning to$9$
120:222,39['  ]| hurt with a big aching hurt.  He knew it, and yet he hardly heeded it.  It was
120:222,40['  ]| hardly noticeable.
120:222,41['  ]| He got into the saddle and rode calmly away, going on$4$ his journey
120:222,42['  ]| southward just the same.  The world about him seemed faint and unimportant.
120:222,43['  ]| Inside himself was the reality and the assurance.  
120:222,43@a   | Easu was dead.  It was a
120:222,44@a   | good thing.
120:222,45['  ]| He had one definite feeling.  He felt as if there had been something
120:223,01['  ]| damming life up$5$, as a great clot of weeds will$1$ dam a stream and make the
120:223,02['  ]| water spread marshily and dead over the surrounding land.  He felt he had
120:223,03['  ]| lifted this clod out of the stream, and the water was flowing on$5$ clear again.
120:223,04['  ]| He felt he had done a good thing.  Somewhere inside himself he felt he had
120:223,05['  ]| done a supremely good thing.  
120:223,05@a   | Life could flow on$5$ to$4$ something beyond.  Why
120:223,06@a   | question further?
120:223,07['  ]| He rode on$5$, down the track.  The sun was very hot, and his body was
120:223,08['  ]| re-echoing with the pain from his hand.  But he went on$5$ calmly, monotonously,
120:223,09['  ]| his horse travelling in$4$ a sort of sleep, easy in$4$ its single-step.  He did not 
120:223,10['  ]| think where he was going, or why; he was just going.
121:224,00[U  ]| <Lost>
121:224,01['  ]| At evening he was still riding.  But his horse lagged, and would not be
121:224,02['  ]| spurred forward.  Darkness came with swift persistence.  He was looking
121:224,03['  ]| anxiously for$4$ water, a burning thirst had made him empty his bottle.
121:224,04['  ]| As if directed by$4$ God, he felt the horse rousing up$5$ and pressing eagerly
121:224,05['  ]| forward.  In$4$ a few minutes it stopped.  Darkness had fallen.  He found the
121:224,06['  ]| horse nosing a timber-lined Government well.
121:224,07['  ]| He got down and awkwardly drew water, for$3$ the well was low.  He drank
121:224,08['  ]| and the horse drank.  Then, with some difficulty, he unsaddled, tied the reins
121:224,09['  ]| round a sapling and removed the bit.  The horse snorted, nosed round, and
121:224,10['  ]| began to$9$ crop in$4$ the dark.  Jack sat on$4$ the ground and looked up$5$ at the stars.
121:224,11['  ]| Then he drank more water, and ate a piece of bread and dry cheese.
121:224,12['  ]| Then he began to$9$ go to$4$ sleep.  He saw Easu coming at him with the axe.
121:224,13@a   | Ugh, how good it was Easu was dead.  Dead, to$9$ go in$4$ the earth to$9$ manure the
121:224,14@a   | soil. Had not Old George said it?  The land wanted dead men dug into it, to$9$
121:224,15@a   | manure it.  Men like$4$ Easu, dead and turned to$4$ manure.  And men like$4$ old Dad*Ellis.
121:224,16@a   | Poor old Dad.
121:224,17['  ]| Jack thought of Monica.  
121:224,17@a   | Monica with her little flower-face.  All messed up$5$
121:224,18@a   | by$4$ that$6#2$ nasty dog of an Easu.  He should be twice dead.  Jack felt she was a little
121:224,19@a   | repulsive too.  To$9$ let herself be pawed over and made sticky by$4$ that$6#2$ heavy
121:224,20@a   | dog of an Easu!  
121:224,20['  ]| Jack felt 
121:224,20@a   | he could never follow where Easu had been
121:224,21@a   | messing.  Monica was no$2$ good now.  She had taken on$5$ some of Easu's repulsiveness.
121:224,22@a   |
121:224,23@a   | Aunt*Matilda had said, 
121:224,23@f   | "Another scandal in$4$ the family!"  
121:224,23@a   | Well, the death of
121:224,24@a   | Easu should make a good scandal.
121:224,25@a   | How lonely it was in$4$ the bush!  How big and weaponlike the stars were.  One
121:224,26@a   | great star very flashing.
121:224,27@a   | "I have dipped my hand in$4$ blood!"  
121:224,27['  ]| he thought to$4$ himself.  And looking at
121:224,28['  ]| his own bloody, hurting hand, in$4$ the starlight, he did not realise whether it
121:224,29['  ]| was Easu's blood or his own.
121:224,30@a   | "I have dipped my hand in$4$ blood!"
121:224,31@a   | "So$5#2$ be it.  Let it be my testament."
121:224,32['  ]| And he lifted up$5$ his hand to$4$ the great flashing star, his wounded hand,
121:224,33['  ]| saying aloud.
121:224,34[A  ]| "Here!  Here is my hand in$4$ blood!  Take it, then.  There is blood between us
121:224,35[A  ]| for*ever."
121:224,36@a   | The blood was between him and his mysterious Lord, for*ever.  Like$4$ a sort
121:224,37@a   | of pledge, or baptism, or a sacrifice:  a bond between them.  
121:224,37['  ]| He was speaking
121:225,01['  ]| to$4$ his mysterious Lord.
121:225,02[A  ]| "There is blood between us for*ever," 
121:225,02['  ]| he said to$4$ the star.
121:225,03['  ]| But the sound of his own hoarse, rather deep voice, reminded him of his
121:225,04['  ]| surroundings.  He looked round.  He heard his horse, and called to$4$ it.  It
121:225,05['  ]| nickered in$4$ the loneliness, still cropping.  He started up$5$ to$9$ see if it was all
121:225,06['  ]| right, to$9$ stroke it and speak to$4$ it.  The bush was very lonely.
121:225,07[A  ]| "Hello, you!"  
121:225,07['  ]| he said to$4$ it.  
121:225,07[A  ]| "In$4$ the midst of life we are in$4$ death.  There is
121:225,08[A  ]| death in$4$ the spaces between the stars.  But somehow it seems all right.  I like$1$ it.
121:225,09[A  ]| I like$1$ to$9$ be Lord of Death.  Who$6#2$ do they call the Lords of Death.  I am a Lord
121:225,10[A  ]| of Death."
121:225,11['  ]| He patted the horse's neck as he talked.
121:225,12[A  ]| "I can not bear to$9$ think of Monica messy with Easu," 
121:225,12['  ]| he said.  
121:225,12[A  ]| "But I suppose
121:225,13[A  ]| it is my destiny.  I suppose it means I am a lord of death.  I hope if I have any
121:225,14[A  ]| children they will$1$ have that$6#2$ look in$4$ their eyes, like$4$ soldiers from the dark
121:225,15[A  ]| kingdom.  I do not want children that$6#1$ are not warriors.  I do not want little love
121:225,16[A  ]| children for$4$ my children.  When I beget children I want to$9$ sow dragon's
121:225,17[A  ]| teeth, and warriors will$1$ spring up$5$.  Easu had not one grain nor spark of a
121:225,18[A  ]| warrior in$4$ him.  He was absolutely a groping civilian, a bully.  That$6#2$ is why he
121:225,19[A  ]| wanted to$9$ spoil Monica.  She is the wife for$4$ a fighting man.  So$3$ he wanted to$9$
121:225,20[A  ]| spoil her ~~ Funny, my father was not a fighting man at all.  He is an absolute
121:225,21[A  ]| civilian.  So$3$ he became a general.  And I am not a civilian.  I know the spaces of
121:225,22[A  ]| death between the stars, like$4$ spaces in$4$ an Egyptian temple.  And at the end of
121:225,23[A  ]| life I see the big black door of death, and the infinite black labyrinth beyond.
121:225,24[A  ]| I like$1$ to$9$ think of going in$5$, and being at home and one of the masters in$4$ the
121:225,25[A  ]| black halls of death, when I am dead.  I hope I die fighting, and go into the
121:225,26[A  ]| black halls of death as a master:  not as a scavenger servant, like$4$ Easu, or a sort
121:225,27[A  ]| of butler, like$4$ my father.  I do not want to$9$ be a servant in$4$ the black house of
121:225,28[A  ]| death.  I want to$9$ be a master."
121:225,29['  ]| He sat down again, with his back to$4$ the tree, looking at the sharp stars, and
121:225,30['  ]| the fume of stars, and the great black gulfs between the stars.  His hand and
121:225,31['  ]| arm were aching and paining a great deal.  But he watched the gulfs between
121:225,32['  ]| the stars.
121:225,33[A  ]| "I suppose my Lord meant me to$9$ be like$4$ this," 
121:225,33['  ]| he said.  
121:225,33[A  ]| "Think if I had to$9$ be
121:225,34[A  ]| tied up$5$ and a gentleman, like$4$ that$6#2$ Blessington.  Or a lawyer like$4$ Old George.
121:225,35[A  ]| Or a politician dropping his aitches, like$4$ that$6#2$ Mr*Watson.  Or empty and
121:225,36[A  ]| important like$4$ that$6#2$ A%*D%*C%.  Or anything that$6#1$ is successful and goes to$4$ church
121:225,37[A  ]| and sings hymns and has supper after church on$4$ the best linen table-cloth!
121:225,38[A  ]| What Lord is it that$6#1$ likes these people?  What God can it be that$6#1$ likes success
121:225,39[A  ]| and Sunday dinners.  Oh, God!  It must be a big, fat, reesty sort of God.
121:225,40[A  ]| My God is dark and you can not see him.  You can not even see his eyes, they are
121:225,41[A  ]| so$5#1$ dark.  But he sits and bides his time and smiles, in$4$ the spaces between the
121:225,42[A  ]| stars.  And he does not know himself what he thinks.  But there is deep, powerful
121:225,43[A  ]| feelings inside him, and he is only waiting his time to$9$ upset this pigsty full
121:225,44[A  ]| of white fat pigs.  I like$1$ my Lord.  I like$1$ his dark face, that$6#1$ I can not see, and his
121:225,45[A  ]| dark eyes, that$6#1$ are so$5#1$ dark you can not see them, and his dark hair, that$6#1$ is
121:226,01[A  ]| blacker than the night, on$4$ his forehead, and the dark feelings he has, which$6#1$
121:226,02[A  ]| nobody will$1$ ever be able to$9$ explain.  I like$1$ my Lord, my own Lord, who$6#1$ is not
121:226,03[A  ]| Lord of pigs."
121:226,04['  ]| He slept fitfully, feverishly, with dreams, and rose at daylight to$9$ drink
121:226,05['  ]| water, and dip his head in$4$ water.  His horse came, he tended it, and with great
121:226,06['  ]| difficulty got the saddle on$5$.  Then he left it standing, and when he came
121:226,07['  ]| again, it was not where he had left it.
121:226,08['  ]| He called, and it whinnied, so$3$ he went into the scrub for$4$ it.  But it was not
121:226,09['  ]| where the sound of the whinnying came from.  He went a few more steps
121:226,10['  ]| forward, and called.  The scrub was not so$5#1$ very thick, either, yet you could not
121:226,11['  ]| see that$6#2$ horse.  He was sure it was only a couple of yards away.  So$3$ he went
121:226,12['  ]| forward, coaxing, calling.  
121:226,12@a   | But nothing ~~ Queer!
121:226,13['  ]| He looked round.  
121:226,13@a   | The track was not there.  The well was not there.  Only the
121:226,14@a   | silent, vindictive, scattered bush.
121:226,15@a   | He could not be lost.  That$6#2$ was impossible.  The homestead was not more than
121:226,16@a   | twenty miles away ~~ and the settlement.
121:226,17['  ]| Yet, as he tramped on$5$, through the brown, heath-like undergrowth, past
121:226,18['  ]| the ghost-like trunks of the scattered gum-trees, over the fallen, burnt-out
121:226,19['  ]| trunks of charred trees, past the bushes of young gum-trees, he gradually
121:226,20['  ]| realised 
121:226,20@a   | he \was\ lost.  And yet it was impossible.  He would come upon$4$ a cabin,
121:226,21@a   | or pick up$5$ the track of a wood cutter, or a 'roo hunter.  He was so$5#1$ near to$4$
121:226,22@a   | everywhere.
121:226,23['  ]| There is something mysterious about the Australian bush.  It is so$5#1$ absolutely
121:226,24['  ]| still.  And yet, in$4$ the near distance, it seems alive.  It seems alive, and as if
121:226,25['  ]| it hovered round you to$9$ maze you and circumvent you.  There is a strange
121:226,26['  ]| feeling, as if invisible, hostile things were hovering round you and heading
121:226,27['  ]| you off.
121:226,28['  ]| Jack stood still and coo-eed!  long and loud.  He fancied he heard an
121:226,29['  ]| answer, and he hurried forward.  He felt light-headed.  He wished he had
121:226,30['  ]| eaten something.  He remembered he had no$2$ water.  And he was walking very
121:226,31['  ]| fast, the sweat pouring down him.  Silly this.  He made himself go slower.
121:226,32['  ]| Then he stood still and looked around.  Then he coo-eed again, and was
121:226,33['  ]| afraid of the ringing sound of his own cry.
121:226,34['  ]| The changeless bush, with scattered, slender tree-trunks everywhere.  You
121:226,35['  ]| could see between them into the distance, to$4$ more open bush:  a few brown
121:226,36['  ]| rocks:  two great dead trees as white as bone:  burnt trees with their core
121:226,37['  ]| charred out:  and living trees hanging their motionless clusters of brown,
121:226,38['  ]| dagger-like leaves.  And the permanent soft blue of the sky overhead.
121:226,39['  ]| Nothing was hidden.  It was all open and fair.  And yet it was haunted with a
121:226,40['  ]| malevolent mystery.  You felt yourself so$5#1$ small, so$5#1$ tiny, so$5#1$ absolutely insignificant,
121:226,41['  ]| in$4$ the still, eternal glade.  And this again is the malevolence of the
121:226,42['  ]| bush, that$3$ it reduces you to$4$ your own absolute insignificance, go where you
121:226,43['  ]| will$1$.
121:226,44['  ]| Jack collected his wits and began to$9$ make a plan.
121:226,45@a   | "First look at the sky, and get your bearing." Then he would go somewhere
121:227,01@a   | straight west from the Reds.  The sun had been in$4$ his eyes as he rode last
121:227,02@a   | evening.
121:227,03@a   | Or had he better go east, and get back?  There were scores of empty miles,
121:227,04@a   | uninhabited, west.  It was settled, he would go east.  Perhaps someone would
121:227,05@a   | find his horse, and come to$9$ look for$4$ him.
121:227,06['  ]| He walked with the sun straight bang in$4$ his eyes.  It was very hot, and he
121:227,07['  ]| was tired.  He was thirsty, his arm hurt and throbbed.  
121:227,07@a   | Why did he imagine he
121:227,08@a   | was hungry.  He was only thirsty.  And so$5#1$ hot!  
121:227,08['  ]| He took off his coat and threw it
121:227,09['  ]| away.  After a while his waistcoat followed.  He felt a little lighter.  But he was
121:227,10['  ]| an intolerable burden to$4$ himself.
121:227,11['  ]| He sat down under a bush and went fast asleep.  How long he slept he did
121:227,12['  ]| not know.  But he woke with a jerk, to$9$ find himself lying on$4$ the ground in$4$ his
121:227,13['  ]| shirt and trousers, the sun still hot in$4$ the heavens, and the mysterious bush
121:227,14['  ]| all around.  The sun had come round and was burning his legs.
121:227,15@a   | What was the matter?  Fear, that$6#2$ was the first thing.  The great, resounding
121:227,16@a   | fear.  Then, a second, he was terribly thirsty.  For$4$ a third, his arm was aching
121:227,17@a   | horribly.  He took off his shirt and made a sling of it, to$9$ carry his arm in$4$.
121:227,18@a   | For$4$ a fourth thing, he realised he had killed Easu, and something was
121:227,19@a   | gnawing at his soul.
121:227,20['  ]| He heard himself sob, and this surprised him very much.  It even brought
121:227,21['  ]| him to$4$ his senses.
121:227,22@a   | "Well!"  
121:227,22['  ]| he thought.  
121:227,22@a   | "I have killed Easu."  
121:227,22['  ]| It seemed years and years ago.
121:227,23@a   | "And the bush has got me, Australia has got me, and now it will$1$ take my life
121:227,24@a   | from me.  Now I am going to$9$ die.  Well, then so$5#2$ be it.  I will$1$ go out and haunt
121:227,25@a   | from the bush, like$4$ all the other lost dead.  I shall wander in$4$ the bush throughout
121:227,26@a   | eternity, with my bloody hand.  Well, then, so$5#2$ be it.  I shall be a lord of death
121:227,27@a   | hovering in$4$ the bush, and let the people who$6#1$ come beware."
121:227,28['  ]| But suddenly he started to$4$ his feet in$4$ terror and horror.  The face of death
121:227,29['  ]| had really got him this time.  It was as if a second wakening had come upon$4$
121:227,30['  ]| him, and his life, which$6#1$ had been sinking, suddenly flared up$5$ in$4$ a frenzy of
121:227,31['  ]| struggle and fear.  He coo-eed!  again and again, and once more plunged
121:227,32['  ]| forward in$4$ mad pursuit of an echo.
121:227,33@a   | He might certainly run into a 'roo hunters' camp any minute.  The place
121:227,34@a   | was alive with them, great big boomers!  Their silly faces!  Their silly complacency,
121:227,35@a   | almost asking to$9$ be shot.  There were a lot of wallabies out here, too.
121:227,36@a   | You might make a fortune hunting skins.
121:227,37@a   | Christ!  how one could want water.
121:227,38@a   | But no$2$ matter.  On$5$ and on$5$!  His soul dropped to$4$ its own sullen level.  If he
121:227,39@a   | was to$9$ die, die he would.  But he would hold out through it all.
121:227,40@a   | On$5$ and on$5$ in$4$ a persistent dogged stupor.  Why give in$5$?
121:227,41['  ]| Then suddenly he dropped on$4$ a log, in$4$ weariness.  Suddenly he had
121:227,42['  ]| thought of Monica.  
121:227,42@a   | Why had she betrayed him?  Why had they all betrayed
121:227,43@a   | him, betrayed him and the thing he wanted from life?  
121:227,43['  ]| He leaned his head
121:227,44['  ]| down on$4$ his arms and wept hoarsely and dryly, and went silent again even as
121:227,45['  ]| he sat, realising the futility of weeping.  His heart, the heart he wept from,
121:228,01['  ]| went utterly dark.  He had no$2$ more heart of torn sympathy.  That$6#2$ was gone.
121:228,02['  ]| Only a black, deep, male volition.  And this was all there was left of him.  He
121:228,03['  ]| would carry the same into death.  Young or old, death sooner or later, he
121:228,04['  ]| would carry just this one thing into the further darkness, his deep, black,
121:228,05['  ]| undying male volition.
121:228,06['  ]| He must have slept.  He was in$4$ great misery, his mouth like$4$ an open
121:228,07['  ]| sepulchre, his consciouness dull.  He was hardly aware that$3$ it was late
121:228,08['  ]| afternoon, hot and motionless.  The outside things were all so$5#1$ far away.  And
121:228,09['  ]| the blackness of death and misery was thick, but transparent, over his eyes.
121:228,10['  ]| He went on$5$, still obstinately insisting that$3$ ahead there was something,
121:228,11['  ]| perhaps even water, though hope was dead in$4$ him.  It was not hope, it was
121:228,12['  ]| heavy volition that$6#1$ insisted on$4$ water.
121:228,13['  ]| The sling dragged on$4$ his neck, he threw it away, and walked with his hand
121:228,14['  ]| against his breast.  And his braces dragged on$4$ him.  He did not want any
121:228,15['  ]| burden at all, none at all.  He stopped, took off his braces and threw them
121:228,16['  ]| away, then his sweat-soaked under-vest.  
121:228,16@a  | He did not want these things.  He
121:228,17@a   | did not want them.  
121:228,17['  ]| He walked on$5$ a bit.
121:228,18['  ]| He hesitated, then came for$4$ a moment to$4$ his senses.  He was going to$9$ throw
121:228,19['  ]| away his trousers, too.  But it came to$4$ him; 
121:228,19@a   | "Do not be a fool, and throw away
121:228,20@a   | your clothes, man.  You know men do it who$6#1$ are lost in$4$ the bush, and then
121:228,21@a   | they are found naked, dead."
121:228,22['  ]| He looked vaguely round for$4$ the vest and braces he had just thrown away.
121:228,23['  ]| But it was half an hour since he had flung them down.  His consciousness
121:228,24['  ]| tricked him, obliterating the interval.  He could not believe his eyes.  They
121:228,25['  ]| had ghostlily disappeared.
121:228,26['  ]| So$3$ he rolled his trousers on$4$ his naked hips, and pressed his hurt hand on$4$
121:228,27['  ]| his naked breast, and set off again in$4$ a sort of fear.  His hat had gone long ago.
121:228,28['  ]| And all the time he had this strange desire to$9$ throw all his clothes away, even
121:228,29['  ]| his boots, and be absolutely naked, as when he was born.  And all the time
121:228,30['  ]| something obstinate in$4$ him combatted the desire.  He wanted to$9$ throw
121:228,31['  ]| everything away, and go absolutely naked over the border.  And, at the same
121:228,32['  ]| time, something in$4$ him deeper than himself obstinately withstood the desire.
121:228,33['  ]| He wanted to$9$ go over the border.  And something deeper even than his
121:228,34['  ]| consciousness refused.
121:228,35['  ]| So$3$ he went on$5$, scarcely conscious at all.  He himself was in$4$ the middle of a
121:228,36['  ]| vacuum, and pressing round were vision and agonies.  The vacuum was
121:228,37['  ]| perhaps the greatest agony, like$4$ a death-tension.  But the other agonies were
121:228,38['  ]| pressing on$4$ its border:  his dry, cardboard mouth, his aching body.  And the
121:228,39['  ]| visions pressed on$4$ the border, too.  A great lake of ghostly white water, such
121:228,40['  ]| as lies in$4$ the valleys where the dead are.  But he walked to$4$ it, and it was not
121:228,41['  ]| there.  The moon was shining whitely.
121:228,42['  ]| And on$4$ the edge of the aching void of him, a wheel was spinning in$4$ his
121:228,43['  ]| brain like$4$ a prayer-wheel.
121:228,44@z   | "Petition me no$2$ petition, sir, to-day;
121:228,45@z   | Let other hours be set apart for$4$ business.
121:228,46@z   | To-day it is our pleasure to$9$ be drunk.
121:229,01@z   | And this our queen ~~ "
121:229,02@a   | Water!  Water!  Water!  Was water only a visionary thing of memory, something
121:229,03@a   | only achingly, wearyingly, thought and thought and thought, and
121:229,04@a   | never substantiated?
121:229,05@z   | "A Briton even in$4$ love should be
121:229,06@z   | A subject not a slave ~~ "
121:229,07['  ]| The wheel of words went round, the wheel of his brain, on$4$ the edge of the
121:229,08['  ]| vacuum.  
121:229,08@a   | What did that$6#2$ mean?  What was a Briton?
121:229,09@z   | "A Briton even in$4$ love should be
121:229,10@z   | A subject not a slave ~~ "
121:229,11['  ]| The words went round and round and were absolutely meaningless to$4$
121:229,12['  ]| him.
121:229,13['  ]| And then out of the dark another wheel was pressing and turning.
121:229,14@z   | "How fast has brother followed brother
121:229,15@z   | From sunshine to$4$ the sunless land."
121:229,16['  ]| Away on$4$ the hard dark periphera of his consciousness the wheel of these
121:229,17['  ]| words was turning and grinding.
121:229,18['  ]| His mind was turning helplessly, but his feet walked on$5$.  He realised in$4$ a
121:229,19['  ]| weird, mournful way that$3$ 
121:229,19@a   | he was shut groping in$4$ a dark, unfathomable cave,
121:229,20@a   | and that$3$ the walls of the cave were his own aching body.  And he was going on$5$
121:229,21@a   | and on$5$ in$4$ the cave, looking for$4$ the fountain, the water.  But his body was
121:229,22@a   | aching, ghastly, jutting walls of the cave.  And it made this weary grind of
121:229,23@a   | words on$4$ the outside.  And he had need to$9$ struggle on$5$ and on$5$.
121:229,24['  ]| In$4$ little flickers he tried to$9$ associate his dark cave-consciousness with his
121:229,25['  ]| grinding body.  
121:229,25@a   | Was it night, was it day?
121:229,26['  ]| But before he had decided that$3$ it was night, the two things had gone apart
121:229,27['  ]| again, he was groping and listening to$4$ the grind.
121:229,28@z   | "But hushed be every thought that$6#1$ springs
121:229,29@z   | From out the bitterness of things.
121:229,30@z   | Those obstinate questionings
121:229,31@z   | Of sense and outward things
121:229,32@z   | Falling from us, vanishing."
121:229,33['  ]| He was so$5#1$ weary of the outward grind of words.  He was stumbling as he
121:229,34['  ]| walked.  And waiting for$4$ the walls of the cave to$9$ crash in$5$ and bury him
121:229,35['  ]| altogether.  And the spring of water did not exist.
121:229,36@z   | "Blank misgivings of a creator moving about in$4$ a world not realised."
121:229,37['  ]| This phrase almost united his two consciousnesses.  
121:229,37@a   | He was going to$9$ crash
121:229,38@a   | into this creator who$6#1$ moved about unrealised.  Other people had gone, and
121:229,39@a   | other things.  Monica, Easu, Tom, Mary, Mother, Father, Lennie.  They were
121:229,40@a   | all like$4$ papery, fallen leaves blowing about outside in$4$ some street.  Inside here
121:229,41@a   | there were no$2$ people at all, none at all.  Only the Creator moving around
121:229,42@a   | unrealised.  His Lord.
121:229,43['  ]| He stumbled and fell, and in$4$ the white flash of falling knew he hurt
121:229,44['  ]| himself again, and that$3$ he was falling for*ever.
122:230,00[U  ]| <The Find>
122:230,00[U  ]| <i>
122:230,01['  ]| The subconscious self woke first, roaring in$4$ distant wave-beats unintelligible,
122:230,02['  ]| unmeaning, persistent, and growing in$4$ volume.  
122:230,02@a   | It had something
122:230,03@a   | to$9$ do with birth.  And not having died.  
122:230,03@z   | "I have not let my soul run like$4$
122:230,04@z   | water out of my mouth."
122:230,05@a   | And as the roaring and beating of the waves increased in$4$ volume, tiny little
122:230,06@a   | words emerged like$4$ flying-fish out of the black ocean of consciousness.  
122:230,06@z   | "Ye
122:230,07@z   | must be born again," 
122:230,07@a   | in$4$ little, silvery, twinkling spurts, like$4$ flying-fish which$6#1$
122:230,08@a   | twinkle silver and spark into the utterly dark sea again.  They were gone and
122:230,09@a   | forgotten before they were realised.  They had emerged deep in$4$ the sea
122:230,10@a   | again.  And the roar of dark consciousness was the roar of death.  The
122:230,11@a   | kingdom of death.  And the lords of death.
122:230,12@z   | "Ye must be born again."  
122:230,12@a   | But the twinkling words had disappeared into
122:230,13@a   | the lordly powerful darkness of death.  And the baptism is the blackness of
122:230,14@a   | death between the eyes, that$6#1$ never lifts, forever, neither in$4$ life nor death.
122:230,15@a   | You may be born again.  But when you emerge, this time you emerge with the
122:230,16@a   | darkness of death between your eyes, as a lord of death.
122:230,17@a   | The waves of dark consciousness surged in$4$ a huge billow, and broke.  
122:230,17['  ]| The
122:230,18['  ]| boy's eyes were wide open, and his voice was saying:
122:230,19[A  ]| "Is that$6#2$ you, Tom!"
122:230,20['  ]| The sound of his voice paperily rustling these words, was so$5#1$ surprising to$4$
122:230,21['  ]| him that$3$ he instantly went dark again, He heard no$2$ answer.
122:230,22['  ]| But those surging dark waves pressed him again and again, and again his
122:230,23['  ]| eyes were open.  They recognised nothing.  
122:230,23@a   | Something was being done to$4$ him
122:230,24@a   | on$4$ the outside of him.  His own throat was moving.  And life started again
122:230,25@a   | with a sharp pain.
122:230,26[A  ]| "What was it?"
122:230,27['  ]| The question sparked suddenly out of him.  
122:230,27@a   | Someone was putting a metal
122:230,28@a   | rim to$4$ his lips, there was liquid in$4$ his mouth.  He put it out.  He did not want to$9$
122:230,29@a   | come back.  His soul sank again like$4$ a dark stone.
122:230,30@a   | And at the very bottom it took a command from the Lord of Death, and
122:230,31@a   | rose slowly again.
122:230,32@a   | Someone was tilting his head, and pouring a little water again.  He swallowed
122:230,33@a   | with a crackling noise and a crackling pain.  One had to$9$ come back.  He
122:230,34@a   | recognised the command from his own Lord.  His Lord was the Lord of
122:230,35@a   | Death.  And he, Jack, was dark-anointed and sent back.  Returned with the
122:230,36@a   | dark unction between his brows.  So$5#2$ be it.
122:230,37@a   | He saw green leaves hanging from a blue sky.  It was still far off.  And the
122:231,01@a   | dark was still better.  But the dark green leaves were also like$4$ a triumphal
122:231,02@a   | banner.  
122:231,02['  ]| He tries to$9$ smile, but his face is stiff.  The faintest irony of a smile sets
122:231,03['  ]| in$4$ its stiffness.  He is forced to$9$ swallow again, and know the pain and tearing.
122:231,04['  ]| Ah!  He suddenly realised the water was good.  He had not realised it the
122:231,05['  ]| other times.  He gulped suddenly, everything forgotten.  And his mind gave a
122:231,06['  ]| sudden lurch towards consciousness.
122:231,07[A  ]| "Is that$6#2$ you, Tom."
122:231,08[H  ]| "Yes.  Feel better?"
122:231,09['  ]| He saw the red mistiness of Tom's face near.  
122:231,09@a   | Tom was faithful.  
122:231,09['  ]| And this
122:231,10['  ]| time his soul swayed, as if it too had drunk of the water of faithfulness.
122:231,11['  ]| He drank the water from the metal cup, because he knew it came from
122:231,12['  ]| Tom's faithfulness.
122:231,13['  ]| Gradually Jack revived.  But his burning bloodshot eyes were dilated with
122:231,14['  ]| fever, and he could not keep hold of his consciousness.  He realised that$3$ 
122:231,14@a   | Tom
122:231,15@a   | was there, and Mary, and somebody he did not for$4$ a long time recognise as
122:231,16@a   | Lennie; and that$3$ there was a fire, and a smell of meat, and night was again
122:231,17@a   | falling.  Yes, he was sure night was falling.  Or was it his own consciousness
122:231,18@a   | going dark?  He did not know.  Perhaps it was the everlasting dark.
122:231,19[A  ]| "What time is it?"  
122:231,19['  ]| he asked.
122:231,20[H  ]| "Sundown," 
122:231,20['  ]| said Tom.  
122:231,20[H  ]| "Why?"
122:231,21['  ]| But he was gone again.  
122:231,21@a   | It was no$2$ good trying to$9$ keep a hold on$5$ one's
122:231,22@a   | consciousness.  The ache, the nausea, the throbbing pain, the swollen mouth,
122:231,23@a   | the strange feeling of cracks in$4$ his flesh, made him let go.
122:231,24@a   | Tom was there and Mary.  He would leave himself to$4$ Tom's faithfulness
122:231,25@a   | and Mary's tenderness, and Lennie's watchful intuition.  The mystery of
122:231,26@a   | death was in$4$ that$6#2$ bit of deathless faithfulness which$6#1$ was in$4$ Tom.  And Mary's
122:231,27@a   | tenderness, and Lennie's intuitive care, both had a touch of the mystery and
122:231,28@a   | stillness of the death that$6#1$ surrounds us darkly all the time.
122:231,00[U  ]| <ii>
122:231,29['  ]| They got Jack home, but he was very ill.  His life would seem to$9$ come back.
122:231,30['  ]| Then it would sink away again like$4$ a stone, and they would think he was
122:231,31['  ]| going.  The strange oscillation.  Several times, Mary watched him almost die.
122:231,32['  ]| Then, from the very brink of death, he would come back again, with a
122:231,33['  ]| strange, haunted look in$4$ his blood-shot eyes.
122:231,34[B  ]| "What is it, Jack?"  
122:231,34['  ]| she would ask him.  But the eyes only looked at her.
122:231,35['  ]| And Lennie, standing there silently watching, said:
122:231,36[J  ]| "He has had about enough of life, that$6#2$ is what it is."
122:231,37['  ]| Mary, blenched with fear, went to$9$ find Tom.
122:231,38[B  ]| "Tom," 
122:231,38['  ]| she said, 
122:231,38[B  ]| "he is sinking again.  Lennie says it is because he does not
122:231,39[B  ]| want to$9$ live."
122:231,40['  ]| Tom silently threw down his tool, and walked with her into the house.  It
122:231,41['  ]| was obvious he was sinking again.
122:231,42[H  ]| "Jack!"  
122:231,42['  ]| said Tom in$4$ a queer voice, bending over him.  
122:231,42[H  ]| "Mate!  Mate!"  
122:231,42['  ]| He
122:232,01['  ]| seemed to$9$ be calling him into camp.
122:232,02['  ]| Jack's expressionless, fever-dilated, blood-shot eyes opened again.  The
122:232,03['  ]| whites were almost scarlet.
122:232,04[H  ]| "You are not desertin' us, are you?"  
122:232,04['  ]| said Tom, in$4$ a gloomy, reproachful tone.
122:232,05[H  ]| "Are you desertin' us, Mate?"
122:232,06['  ]| It was the Australian, lost but unbroken on$4$ the edge of the wilderness,
122:232,07['  ]| looking with grim mouth into the void, and calling to$4$ his mate not to$9$ leave
122:232,08['  ]| him.  Man for$4$ man, they were up$5$ against the great dilemma of white men, on$4$
122:232,09['  ]| the edge of the white man's world, looking into the vaster, alien world of the
122:232,10['  ]| undawned era, and unable to$9$ enter, unable to$9$ leave their own.
122:232,11['  ]| Jack looked at Tom and smiled faintly.  In$4$ some subtle way, both men knew
122:232,12['  ]| the mysterious responsibilities of living.  Tom was almost fatalistic-reckless.
122:232,13['  ]| Yet it was a recklessness which$6#1$ knew that$3$ the only thing to$9$ do was to$9$ go ahead,
122:232,14['  ]| meet death that$6#2$ way.  He could see nothing but meeting death ahead.  But
122:232,15['  ]| since he was a man, he would go ahead to$9$ meet it, he would not sit and wait.
122:232,16['  ]| Jack smiled faintly, and the courage came back to$4$ him.  He began to$9$ rally.
122:232,17['  ]| The next morning he turned to$4$ Mary and said:
122:232,18[A  ]| "I still want Monica."
122:232,19['  ]| Mary dropped her head and did not answer.  She recognised it as one of
122:232,20['  ]| the signs that$3$ he was going to$9$ live.  And she recognised the unbending
122:232,21['  ]| obstinacy in$4$ his voice.
122:232,22[A  ]| "I shall come for$4$ you, too, in$4$ time," 
122:232,22['  ]| he said to$4$ her, looking at her with his
122:232,23['  ]| terrible scarlet eyes.
122:232,24['  ]| She did not answer, but her hand trembled as she went for$4$ his medicine.
122:232,25['  ]| There was something prophetic and terrible in$4$ his sallow face and burning,
122:232,26['  ]| blood-shot eyes.
122:232,27[B  ]| "Be still," 
122:232,27['  ]| she murmured to$4$ him.  
122:232,27[B  ]| "Only be still."
122:232,28[A  ]| "I shall not ever really drop you," 
122:232,28['  ]| he said to$4$ her.  
122:232,28[A  ]| "But I want Monica first.
122:232,29[A  ]| That$6#2$ is my way."
122:232,30['  ]| He seemed curiously victorious, making these assertions.
123:233,00[U  ]| <GOLD>
123:233,00[U  ]| <I>
123:233,01['  ]| The boy Jack never rose from that$6#2$ fever.  It was a man who$6#1$ got up$5$ again.
123:233,02['  ]| A man with all the boyishness cut away from him, all the childishness
123:233,03['  ]| gone, and a certain unbending recklessness in$4$ its place.
123:233,04['  ]| He was thin, and pale, and the cherubic look had left his face forever.  His
123:233,05['  ]| cheeks were longer, leaner, and when he got back his brown-faced strength
123:233,06['  ]| again, he was handsome.  But it was not the handsomeness, any more, that$6#1$
123:233,07['  ]| would make women like$4$ Aunt*Matilda exclaim involuntarily:  
123:233,07@f   | "Dear boy!"
123:233,08['  ]| They would look at him twice, but with misgiving, and a slight recoil.
123:233,09['  ]| It was his eyes that$6#1$ had changed most. From being the warm, emotional
123:233,10['  ]| dark blue eyes of a boy, they had become impenetrable, and had a certain
123:233,11['  ]| fixity.  There was a touch of death in$4$ them, a little of the fixity and
123:233,12['  ]| changelessness of death.  And with this, a peculiar power.  As if he had lost his
123:233,13['  ]| softness in$4$ the other world of death, and brought back instead some of the
123:233,14['  ]| relentless power that$6#1$ belongs there.  And the inevitable touch of mockery.
123:233,15['  ]| As soon as he began to$9$ walk about, he was aware of the change.  He walked
123:233,16['  ]| differently, he put his feet down differently, he carried himself differently.
123:233,17['  ]| The old drifting, diffident careless bearing had left him.  He felt his uprightness
123:233,18['  ]| hard, bony.  Sometimes he was aware of the skeleton of himself.  He was a
123:233,19['  ]| hard skeleton, built upon$4$ the solid bony column of the back-bone, and
123:233,20['  ]| pitched for$4$ balance on$4$ the great bones of the hips.  But the plumb-weight was
123:233,21['  ]| in$4$ the cage of his chest.  A skeleton!
123:233,22['  ]| But not the dead skeleton.  The living one, the living man of bone, unyielding
123:233,23['  ]| and imperishable.  The bone of his forehead like$4$ iron against the world,
123:233,24['  ]| and the blade of his breast like$4$ an iron wedge held forward.  He was thin, and
123:233,25['  ]| built of bone.
123:233,26['  ]| And inside this living, rigid man of bone, the dark heart heavy with its
123:233,27['  ]| wisdom and passions and emotions and its correspondences.  It, too, was
123:233,28['  ]| living, softly and intensely living.  But heavy and dark, plumb to$4$ the earth's
123:233,29['  ]| centre.
123:233,30['  ]| During his convalescence, he got used to$4$ this man of bone which$6#1$ he had
123:233,31['  ]| become, and accepted his own inevitable.  
123:233,31@a   | His bones, his skeleton was
123:233,32@a   | isolatedly itself.  It had no$2$ contact.  Except that$3$ it was forged in$4$ the kingdom
123:233,33@a   | of death, to$9$ be durable and effectual.  Some strange Lord had forged his
123:233,34@a   | bones in$4$ the dark smithy where the dead and the unborn came and went.
123:233,35@a   | And this was his only permanent contact:  the contact with the Lord who$6#1$
123:233,36@a   | had forged his bones, and put a dark heart in$4$ the midst.
123:233,37@a   | But the other contacts, they were alive and quivering in$4$ his flesh.  His
123:234,01@a   | passive but enduring affection for$4$ Tom and Lennie, and the strange quiescent
123:234,02@a   | hold he held over Mary.  Beyond these, the determined molten stirring
123:234,03@a   | of his desire for$4$ Monica.
123:234,04@a   | And the other desires.  The desire in$4$ his heart for$4$ masterhood.  Not
123:234,05@a   | mastery.  He did not want to$9$ master anything.  But to$9$ be the dark lord of his
123:234,06@a   | own folk:  that$6#2$ was a desire in$4$ his heart.  And the concurrent knowledge that$3$,
123:234,07@a   | to$9$ achieve this, he must be master, too, of gold.  Not gold for$4$ the having's
123:234,08@a   | sake.  Not for$4$ the spending's sake.  Nor for$4$ the sake of the power to$9$ hire
123:234,09@a   | services, which$6#1$ is the power of money.  But the mastery of gold, so$3$ that$3$ gold
123:234,10@a   | should no$2$ longer be like$4$ a yellow star to$4$ which$6#1$ men hitched the wagon of
123:234,11@a   | their destinies.  To$9$ be Master of Gold, in$4$ the name of the dark Lord who$6#1$ had
123:234,12@a   | forged his bones neither of gold nor silver nor iron, but of the white glisten
123:234,13@a   | of life.  Masterhood, as a man forged by$4$ the Lord of Hosts, in$4$ the innermost
123:234,14@a   | fires of life and death.  Because, just as a red fire burning on$4$ the hearth is a
123:234,15@a   | fusion of death into what was once live leaves, so$3$ the creation of man in$4$ the
123:234,16@a   | dark is a fusion of life into death, with the life dominant.
123:234,17['  ]| The two are never separate, life and death.  And in$4$ the vast region of
123:234,18['  ]| afterwards, the Lord of Death is Lord of Life, and the God of Life and
123:234,19['  ]| creation is Lord of Death.
123:234,20['  ]| But Jack knew his Lord as the Lord of Death.  The rich, dark mystery of
123:234,21['  ]| death, which$6#1$ lies ahead, and the dark sumptuousness of the halls of death.
123:234,22['  ]| Unless Life moves on$5$ to$4$ the beauty of the darkness of death, there is no$2$ life,
123:234,23['  ]| there is only automatism.  Unless we see the dark splendour of death ahead,
123:234,24['  ]| and travel to$9$ be lords of darkness at last, peers in$4$ the realms of death, our life
123:234,25['  ]| is nothing but a petulant, pitiful backing, like$4$ a frightened horse, back, back
123:234,26['  ]| to$4$ the stable, the manger, the cradle.  But onward ahead is the great porch of
123:234,27['  ]| the entry into death, with its columns of bone-ivory.  And beyond the porch is
123:234,28['  ]| the heart of darkness, where the lords of death arrive home out of the
123:234,29['  ]| vulgarity of life, into their own dark and silent domains, lordly, ruling the
123:234,30['  ]| incipience of life.
123:234,00[U  ]| <ii>
123:234,31['  ]| At the trial Jack said, in$4$ absolute truth, 
123:234,31@a   | he shot Easu in$4$ self-defence.  He had
123:234,32@a   | not the faintest thought of shooting him when he rode up$5$ to$4$ the paddock;
123:234,33@a   | nor of shooting anybody.  He had called in$4$ passing, just to$9$ say good-day.  And
123:234,34@a   | then he had fired at Easu because he knew the axe would come down in$4$ his
123:234,35@a   | skull if he did not.
123:234,36['  ]| Herbert gave the same deposition.  
123:234,36@q   | The shot was entirely in$4$ self-defence.
123:234,37['  ]| So$3$ Jack was free again.   There had been no$2$ further mention of Monica,
123:234,38['  ]| after Jack had said he was riding south to$9$ see her, because he had always
123:234,39['  ]| cared for$4$ her.  No*one hinted that$3$ Easu was the father of her child, though
123:234,40['  ]| Mrs*Ellis knew, and Old George knew.
123:234,41['  ]| Afterwards, Jack wondered 
123:234,41@a   | why he had called at the Reds' place that$6#2$
123:235,01@a   | morning.  Why had he taken the trail past where he and Easu had fought?  He
123:235,02@a   | had intended to$9$ see Easu, that$6#2$ was why.  But for$4$ what unconscious purpose
123:235,03@a   | who$6#2$ shall say?  
123:235,03['  ]| The death was laid at the door of the old feud between Jack
123:235,04['  ]| and Red.  Only Old George knew the whole, and he, subtle and unafraid,
123:235,05['  ]| pushed justice as it should go, according to$4$ his own sense of justice, like$4$ a real
123:235,06['  ]| Australian.
123:235,07['  ]| Meanwhile he had been corresponding with Monica and Percy.  They were
123:235,08['  ]| in$4$ Albany, and on$4$ the point of sailing to$4$ Melbourne, where Percy would
123:235,09['  ]| enter some business or other, and the two would live as man and wife.
123:235,10['  ]| Monica was expecting another child.  At this news, Mr*George wanted to$9$ let
123:235,11['  ]| them go, and be damned to$4$ them.  But he talked to$4$ Mary, and Mary said 
123:235,11@b   | Jack
123:235,12@b   | would want Monica, no$2$ matter what happened.
123:235,13[B  ]| "When he wants a thing really, he can not change," 
123:235,13['  ]| said Mary gloomily:  
123:235,13[B  ]| "He
123:235,14[B  ]| is like$4$ that$6#2$."
123:235,15[C  ]| "An obstinate young fool that$6#1$ has never had enough lickings," 
123:235,15['  ]| said Old George.
123:235,16[C  ]| "Devil's blood of his mother's devil of an obstinate father.  But very
123:235,17[C  ]| well then, let him have her, with a couple of babies for$4$ a dowry.  Make himself
123:235,18[C  ]| the laughing stock of the colony."
123:235,19['  ]| So$3$ he wrote to$4$ Monica:  
123:235,19[C  ]| "If you care about seeing Jack*Grant again, you had
123:235,20[C  ]| better stop in$4$ this colony.  He sticks to$4$ it he wants to$9$ see you, being more a fool
123:235,21[C  ]| than a knave, unlike many people in$4$ Western*Australia."
123:235,22['  ]| She, being obstinate like$4$ the rest, stayed on$5$ in$4$ Albany, though Percy, angry
123:235,23['  ]| and upset, sailed on$5$ to$4$ Melbourne.  He said 
123:235,23@w   | she could join him if she liked.  
123:235,23['  ]| He
123:235,24['  ]| stayed till her baby was born, then went because he did not want to$9$ face Jack.
123:235,25['  ]| Jack arrived by$4$ sea.  He was still not strong enough to$9$ travel by$4$ land.  He got
123:235,26['  ]| a vessel going to$4$ Adelaide, that$6#1$ touched at Albany.
123:235,27['  ]| Monica, thinner than ever, with a little baby in$4$ her arms, and her flower-face
123:235,28['  ]| like$4$ a chilled flower, was on$4$ the dock to$9$ meet him.  He saw her at once
123:235,29['  ]| and his heart gave a queer lurch.
123:235,30['  ]| As he came forward to$9$ meet her, their eyes met.  Her yellow eyes looked
123:235,31['  ]| straight into his, with the same queer, panther-like scrutiny, and the eternal
123:235,32['  ]| question.  She was a question, and she had got to$9$ be answered.  It made her
123:235,33['  ]| fearless, almost shameless, whatever she did.
123:235,34['  ]| But with Percy, the fear had nipped her, the fear that$3$ she should go
123:235,35['  ]| forever unanswered, as if life had rejected her.
123:235,36['  ]| This nipped and her strange yellow flare of question as she peered at him
123:235,37['  ]| under her brows, like$4$ a panther, made Jack's cheeks slowly darken, and the
123:235,38['  ]| life-blood flow into him stronger, heavier.  He knew his passion for$4$ her was
123:235,39['  ]| the same.  
123:235,39@a   | Thank God he met her at last.
123:235,40[D  ]| "You are awfully thin," 
123:235,40['  ]| she said.
123:235,41[A  ]| "So$5#2$ are you," 
123:235,41['  ]| he answered.
123:235,42['  ]| And she laughed her quick, queer, breathless little laugh, showing her
123:235,43['  ]| pointed teeth.  She had seen the death-look in$4$ his eyes and it was her answer,
123:235,44['  ]| a bitter answer enough.  She stopped to$9$ put straight the tiny bonnet over her
123:235,45['  ]| little baby's face, with a delicate, remote movement.  He watched her in$4$
123:236,01['  ]| silence.
123:236,02[D  ]| "Where do you want to$9$ go?" 
123:236,02['  ]| she asked him, without looking at him.
123:236,03[A  ]| "With you," 
123:236,03['  ]| he said.
123:236,04['  ]| Then she looked at him again, with the dry-eyed question.  But she saw the
123:236,05['  ]| unapproachable death-look there in$4$ his eyes, at the back of their dark-blue,
123:236,06['  ]| dilated emotion and passion.  And her heart gave up$5$.  She looked down the
123:236,07['  ]| pier, as if to$9$ walk away.  He carried his own bag.  They set off side by$4$ side.
123:236,08['  ]| She lived in$4$ a tiny slab cottage in$4$ a side lane.  But she called first at a
123:236,09['  ]| neighbour's house, for$4$ her other child.  It was a tiny, toddling thing with a
123:236,10['  ]| defiant stare in$4$ its pale-blue eyes.  Monica held her baby on$4$ one arm, and led
123:236,11['  ]| this tottering child by$4$ the other.  Jack walked at her side in$4$ silence.
123:236,12['  ]| The cottage had just two rooms, poorly furnished.  But it was clean, and
123:236,13['  ]| had bright cotton curtains and sofa-bed, and a pale-blue convolvulus vine
123:236,14['  ]| mingling with a passion vine over the window.
123:236,15['  ]| She laid the baby down in$4$ its cradle, and began to$9$ take off the bonnet of the
123:236,16['  ]| little girl.  She had called it Jane.
123:236,17['  ]| Jack watched the little Jane as if fascinated.  The infant had curly reddish
123:236,18['  ]| hair, of a lovely fine texture and a beautiful tint, something like$4$ raw silk  with
123:236,19['  ]| threads of red.  Her eyes were round and bright blue, and rather defiant, and
123:236,20['  ]| she had the delicate complexion of her kind.  She fingered her mother's
123:236,21['  ]| brooch, like$4$ a little monkey touching a bit of glittering gold, as Monica
123:236,22['  ]| stooped to$4$ her.
123:236,23[V  ]| "Daddy gone!"  
123:236,23['  ]| she said in$4$ her chirping, bird-like, quite emotionless tone.
123:236,24[D  ]| "Yes, Daddy gone!"  
123:236,24['  ]| replied Monica, as emotionlessly.
123:236,25['  ]| The child then glanced with unmoved curiosity at Jack.  She kept on$5$
123:236,26['  ]| looking and looking at him, sideways.  And he watched her just as sharply,
123:236,27['  ]| her sharp pale-blue eyes.
123:236,28[V  ]| "Him more Daddy?"  
123:236,28['  ]| she asked.
123:236,29[D  ]| "I do not know," 
123:236,29['  ]| replied Monica, who$6#1$ was suckling her baby.
123:236,30[A  ]| "Yes," 
123:236,30['  ]| said Jack in$4$ a rather hard tone, smiling with a touch of mockery.
123:236,31[A  ]| "I am your new father."
123:236,32['  ]| The child smiled back at him, a faint, mocking little grin, and put her
123:236,33['  ]| finger in$4$ her mouth.
123:236,34['  ]| The day passed slowly in$4$ the strange place, Monica busy all the time with
123:236,35['  ]| the children and the house.  Poor Monica, she was already a drudge.  She was
123:236,36['  ]| still careless and hasty in$4$ her methods, but clean, and uncomplaining.  She
123:236,37['  ]| kept herself to$4$ herself, and did what she had to$9$ do.  And Jack watched, mostly
123:236,38['  ]| silent.
123:236,39['  ]| At last the lamp was lighted, the children were both in$4$ bed.  Monica cooked
123:236,40['  ]| a little supper over the fire.
123:236,41['  ]| Before he came to$4$ the table, Jack asked:
123:236,42[A  ]| "Is Jane Easu's child?"
123:236,43[D  ]| "I thought you knew," 
123:236,43['  ]| she said.
123:236,44[A  ]| "No*one has told me.  Is she?"
123:236,45['  ]| Monica turned and faced him, with the yellow flare in$4$ her eyes, as she
123:237,01['  ]| looked into his eyes, challenging.
123:237,02[D  ]| "Yes," 
123:237,02['  ]| she said.
123:237,03['  ]| But his eyes did not change.  The remoteness at the back of them did not
123:237,04['  ]| come any nearer.
123:237,05[D  ]| "Shall you hate her?"  
123:237,05['  ]| she asked, rather breathlessly.
123:237,06[A  ]| "I do not know," 
123:237,06['  ]| he said slowly.
123:237,07[D  ]| "Do not!"  
123:237,07['  ]| she pleaded, in$4$ the same breathlessness.  
123:237,07[D  ]| "Because I rather hate
123:237,08[D  ]| her."
123:237,09[A  ]| "She is too little to$9$ hate," 
123:237,09['  ]| said Jack.
123:237,10[D  ]| "I know," 
123:237,10['  ]| said Monica rather doubtfully.
123:237,11['  ]| She put the food on$4$ the table.  But she herself ate nothing.
123:237,12[A  ]| "Are not you well!  You do not eat," 
123:237,12['  ]| he asked.
123:237,13[D  ]| "I can not eat just now," 
123:237,13['  ]| she said.
123:237,14[A  ]| "If you have a child to$9$ suckle, you should," 
123:237,14['  ]| he replied.
123:237,15['  ]| But she only became more silent, and her hands hung dead in$4$ her lap.
123:237,16['  ]| Then the baby began to$9$ cry, a thin, poor, frail noise, and she went to$9$ soothe
123:237,17['  ]| it.
123:237,18['  ]| When she came back, Jack had left the table and was sitting in$4$ Percy's
123:237,19['  ]| wooden arm-chair.
123:237,20[A  ]| "Percy's child does not seem to$9$ have much life in$4$ it," 
123:237,20['  ]| he said.
123:237,21[D  ]| "Not \very\ much," 
123:237,21['  ]| she replied.  And her hands trembled as she cleared away
123:237,22['  ]| the dishes.
123:237,23['  ]| When she had finished, she moved about, afraid to$9$ sit down.  He called her
123:237,24['  ]| to$4$ him.
123:237,25[A  ]| "Monica!"  
123:237,25['  ]| he said, with a little jerk of his head, meaning she should come
123:237,26['  ]| to$4$ him.
123:237,27['  ]| She came rather slowly, her queer, pure-seeming face looking like$4$ a hurt.
123:237,28['  ]| She stood with her thin hands hanging in$4$ front of her apron.
123:237,29[A  ]| "Monica!"  
123:237,29['  ]| he said, rising and taking her hands.  
123:237,29[A  ]| "I should still want you if
123:237,30[A  ]| you had a hundred children.  So$3$ we will$1$ not say any more about that$6#2$.  And you
123:237,31[A  ]| will$1$ not oppose me when there is anything I want to$9$ do, will$1$ you?"
123:237,32['  ]| She shook her head.
123:237,33[D  ]| "No$7$, I will$1$ not oppose you," 
123:237,33['  ]| she said, in$4$ a dead little voice.
123:237,34[A  ]| "Let me come to$4$ you, then," 
123:237,34['  ]| he said.  
123:237,34[A  ]| "I should have to$9$ come to$4$ you if you
123:237,35[A  ]| had gone to$4$ Melbourne or all round the world.   And I should be glad to$9$
123:237,36[A  ]| come," 
123:237,36['  ]| he added whimsically, with the warmth of his old smile coming into
123:237,37['  ]| his eyes; 
123:237,37[A  ]| "I suppose I should be glad to$9$ come, if it was in$4$ hell."
123:237,38[D  ]| "But it is not hell, is it?"  
123:237,38['  ]| she asked, wistfully and a little defiantly.
123:237,39[A  ]| "Not a bit," 
123:237,39['  ]| he said.  
123:237,39[A  ]| "You have got too much pluck in$4$ you to$9$ spoil.  You are as
123:237,40[A  ]| good to$4$ me as you were the first time I knew you.  Only, Easu might have
123:237,41[A  ]| spoiled you."
123:237,42[D  ]| "And you killed him," 
123:237,42['  ]| she said quickly, half in$4$ reproach.
123:237,43[A  ]| "Would you rather he had killed me?"  
123:237,43['  ]| he asked.
123:237,44['  ]| She looked a long time into his eyes, with that$6#2$ watchful, searching look that$6#1$
123:237,45['  ]| used to$9$ hurt him.  Now it hurt him no$2$ more.
123:238,01['  ]| She shook her head, saying:
123:238,02[D  ]| "I am glad you killed him.  I could not bear to$9$ think of him living on$5$, and
123:238,03[D  ]| sneering, ~~ sneering. ~~ I was always in$4$ love with you, really."
123:238,04[A  ]| "Ah, Monica!"  
123:238,04['  ]| he exclaimed softly, teasingly, with a little smile.  And she
123:238,05['  ]| flushed, and flashed with anger.
123:238,06[D  ]| "If you never knew, it was your own fault!"  
123:238,06['  ]| she jerked out.
123:238,07[A  ]| "\Really\," 
123:238,07['  ]| he said, quoting and echoing the word as she had said it, and
123:238,08['  ]| smiling with a touch of raillery at her, before he added:
123:238,09[A  ]| "You always loved me \really\, but you loved the others as well, unreally."
123:238,10[D  ]| "Yes," 
123:238,10['  ]| she said, baffled, defiant.
123:238,11[A  ]| "All right, that$6#2$ day is over.  You have \had\ your unreal loves.  Now come and
123:238,12[A  ]| have your real one."
123:238,13['  ]| In$4$ the next room Easu's child was sleeping in$4$ its odd little way, a sleep that$6#1$
123:238,14['  ]| was neither innocent nor not innocent, queer and naively "knowing," even in$4$
123:238,15['  ]| its sleep.  Jack watched it as he took off his things:  
123:238,15@a   | this little inheritance he had
123:238,16@a   | from Easu.  An odd little thing.  With an odd, loveless little spirit of its own,
123:238,17@a   | cut off and not daunted.  He would not love it, because it was not loveable.  But
123:238,18@a   | its odd little dauntlessness and defiance amused him, he would see it had fair
123:238,19@a   | play.
123:238,20['  ]| And he took Monica in$4$ his arms, glad to$9$ get into grips with his own fate
123:238,21['  ]| again.  
123:238,21@a   | And it was good.  It was better, perhaps, than his passionate desirings
123:238,22@a   | of earlier days had imagined.  Because he did not lose and scatter himself.  He
123:238,23@a   | gathered, like$4$ a reaper at harvest gathering.
123:238,24['  ]| And Monica, who$6#1$ woke for$4$ her baby, looked at him as he slept soundly and
123:238,25['  ]| she sat in$4$ bed suckling her child.   She saw in$4$ him the eternal stranger.  
123:238,25@d   | There
123:238,26@d   | he was, the eternal stranger, lying in$4$ her bed sleeping at her side.  
123:238,26['  ]| She rocked
123:238,27['  ]| her baby slightly as she sat up$5$ in$4$ the night, still rocking in$4$ the last throes of
123:238,28['  ]| rebellion.  
123:238,28@d   | The eternal stranger, she must fear him, because she could never
123:238,29@d   | finally know him, and never entirely possess him.    He would never \belong\ to$4$
123:238,30@d   | her.  This had made her rebel so$5#1$ dangerously against the thought of him.
123:238,31@d   | Because \she\ would have to$9$ belong to$4$ \him\.  Now he had arrived again before
123:238,32@d   | her like$4$ a doom, a doom she still stiffened herself against, but could no$2$
123:238,33@d   | longer withstand.  Because the emptiness of the other men, Percy, Easu, all
123:238,34@d   | the men she knew, was worse than the doom of this man who$6#1$ would never
123:238,35@d   | give her his ultimate intimacy, but who$6#1$ would be able to$9$ hold her till the end
123:238,36@d   | of time.  There was something enduring and changeless in$4$ him.  But she
123:238,37@d   | would never hold \him\ entirely.  Never!  She would have to$9$ resign herself to$4$
123:238,38@d   | that$6#2$.
123:238,39@d   | Well, so$5#2$ be it.  At last it relieved her of the burden of responsibility for$4$ life.
123:238,40@d   | It took away from her her own strange, fascinating female power, which$6#1$ she
123:238,41@d   | could not bear to$9$ part with.  But at the same time she felt saved, because her
123:238,42@d   | own power frightened her, having brought her to$4$ a brink of nothingness
123:238,43@d   | that$6#1$ was like$4$ a madness.  The nothingness that$6#1$ fronted her with Percy was
123:238,44@d   | worse than submitting to$4$ this man.  After all, this man was magical.
123:238,45['  ]| She put her child in$4$ its cradle, and returning waked the man.  He put out
123:239,01['  ]| his hand quickly for$4$ her, as if she were a new, blind discovery.  She quivered
123:239,02['  ]| and thrilled, and left it to$4$ him.  
123:239,02@d   | It was his mystery, since he would have it so$5#2$.
123:239,00[U  ]| <iii>
123:239,03['  ]| They were married in$4$ Albany, and stayed there another month waiting for$4$ a
123:239,04['  ]| ship.  Then they sailed away, all the family, away to$4$ the North*West.  They did
123:239,05['  ]| not go to$4$ Perth; they did not go to$4$ Wandoo.  Only Jack saw Mr*George in$4$
123:239,06['  ]| Fremantle, and waved to$4$ him good-bye as the ship proceeded north.
123:239,07['  ]| Then came two months of wandering, a pretty business with a baby and a
123:239,08['  ]| toddling infant.  The second month, Percy's baby suddenly died in$4$ the heat,
123:239,09['  ]| and Monica hardly mourned for$4$ it.  As Jack looked at its pinched little dead
123:239,10['  ]| face, he said:  
123:239,10[A  ]| "\You are better dead\."  
123:239,10['  ]| And that$6#2$ was true.
123:239,11['  ]| The little Jane, however, showed no$2$ signs of dying.  The knocking about
123:239,12['  ]| seemed to$9$ suit her.  Monica remained very thin.  It was a sort of hell-life to$4$
123:239,13['  ]| her, this struggling from place to$4$ place in$4$ the heat and dust, no$2$ water to$9$ wash
123:239,14['  ]| in$4$, sleeping anywhere like$4$ a lost dog, eating the food that$6#1$ came.  Because she
123:239,15['  ]| loved to$9$ be clean and good-looking and in$4$ graceful surroundings.  
123:239,15@d   | What
123:239,16@d   | fiend of hell had ordained that$3$ she must be a sort of tramp woman in$4$ the
123:239,17@d   | back of beyond?
123:239,18@d   | She did not know, so$3$ it was no$2$ good asking.  Jack seemed to$9$ know what he
123:239,19@d   | wanted.  And she was his woman, fated to$4$ him.  There was no$2$ more to$4$ it.
123:239,20@d   | Through the purgatory of discomfort she had to$9$ go.  And he was good to$4$ her,
123:239,21@d   | thoughtful for$4$ her, in$4$ material things.  But at the centre of his soul he was not
123:239,22@d   | thoughtful for$4$ her.  He just possessed her, mysteriously owned her, and went
123:239,23@d   | ahead with his own obsessions.
123:239,24['  ]| Sometimes she tried to$9$ rebel.  Sometimes she wanted to$9$ refuse to$9$ go any
123:239,25['  ]| further, to$9$ refuse to$9$ be a party to$4$ his will$0$.  But then he suddenly looked so$5#1$
123:239,26['  ]| angry, and so$5#1$ remote, looked at her with such far-off, cold, haughty eyes,
123:239,27['  ]| that$3$ she was frightened.  She was afraid he would abandon her, or ship her
123:239,28['  ]| back to$4$ Perth, and put her out of his life forever.
123:239,29['  ]| Above all things, she did not want to$9$ be shipped back to$4$ Perth.  Here in$4$ the
123:239,30['  ]| wild she could have taken up$5$ with another man.  She knew that$6#2$.  But she knew
123:239,31['  ]| that$3$ if she did, Jack would just put her out of his life altogether.  There would
123:239,32['  ]| be no$2$ return.  His passion for$4$ her would just take the form of excluding her
123:239,33['  ]| forever from his being.  Because passion can so$5#2$ reverse itself, and from being
123:239,34['  ]| a great desire that$6#1$ draws the beloved towards itself, it can become an eternal
123:239,35['  ]| revulsion, excluding the once-beloved forever from any contact at all.
123:239,36['  ]| Monica knew this.  And whenever she tried to$9$ oppose him, and the deathly
123:239,37['  ]| anger rose in$4$ him, she was pierced with a fear so$5#1$ acute she had to$9$ hold on$5$ to$4$
123:239,38['  ]| some support, to$9$ prevent herself sinking to$4$ the ground.  It was a strange fear,
123:239,39['  ]| as if she were going to$9$ be cast out of the land of the living, among the unliving
123:239,40['  ]| that$6#1$ slink like$4$ pariahs outside.
123:239,41['  ]| Afterwards she was puzzled.  
123:239,41@d   | Why had he got this power over her?  Why
123:240,01@d   | could not she be a free woman, to$9$ go where she chose, and be a complete thing
123:240,02@d   | in$4$ herself.
123:240,03['  ]| She caught at the idea.  But it was no$2$ good.  When he went away prospecting
123:240,04['  ]| for$4$ a week or more at a time, she would struggle to$9$ regain her woman's
123:240,05['  ]| freedom.  And it would seem to$4$ her as if she had got it:  she was free of him
123:240,06['  ]| again.  She was a free being, by$4$ herself.
123:240,07['  ]| But then, when he came back, tired, sunburnt, ragged, and still unsuccessful:
123:240,08['  ]| and when he looked at her with desire in$4$ his eyes, the living desire for$4$
123:240,09['  ]| her; she was so$5#1$ glad, suddenly, as if she had forgotten, or as if she had never
123:240,10['  ]| known what his desire for$4$ her meant to$4$ her.  She was so$5#1$ glad, she was weak
123:240,11['  ]| with gladness instead of fear.  And if, in$4$ perverseness, she still tried to$9$ oppose
123:240,12['  ]| him, in$4$ the light of her supposedly regained freedom; and she saw the
123:240,13['  ]| strange glow of desire for$4$ her go out of his eyes, and the strange loveliness, to$4$
123:240,14['  ]| her, of his wanting to$9$ have her near, in$4$ the room, giving him his meal or
123:240,15['  ]| sitting near him outside in$4$ the shade of the evening; then, when his face
123:240,16['  ]| changed, and took on$5$ the curious look of aloofness, as if he glistened with
123:240,17['  ]| anger looking down on$4$ her from a long way off; then, she felt all her own
123:240,18['  ]| world turn to$4$ smoke, and her own will$0$ mysteriously evaporate, leaving her
123:240,19['  ]| only wanting to$9$ be wanted again, back in$4$ his world.  Her freedom was worth
123:240,20['  ]| less than nothing.
123:240,21['  ]| Still often, when he was gone, leaving her alone in$4$ the little cabin, she was
123:240,22['  ]| glad.  She was free to$9$ spread her own woman's aura round her, she was free
123:240,23['  ]| to$9$ delight in$4$ her own woman's idleness and whimsicality, free to$9$ amuse
123:240,24['  ]| herself, half-teasing, half-loving that$6#2$ little odd female of a Jane.  And sometimes
123:240,25['  ]| she would go to$4$ the cabins of other women, and gossip.  And sometimes
123:240,26['  ]| she would flirt with a young miner or prospector who$6#1$ seemed handsome.
123:240,27['  ]| And she would get back her young, gay liveliness and freedom.
123:240,28['  ]| But when the man she flirted with wanted to$9$ kiss her, or put his arm round
123:240,29['  ]| her waist, she found it made her go cold and savagely hostile.  It was not as in$4$
123:240,30['  ]| the old days, when it gave her a thrill to$9$ be seized and kissed, whether by$4$
123:240,31['  ]| Easu, by$4$ Percy or Jack or whatever man it was she was flirting with.  Then,
123:240,32['  ]| there had been a spark between her and many a man.  But now, alas, the
123:240,33['  ]| spark would not fly.  The man might be never so$5#1$ good-looking and likeable,
123:240,34['  ]| yet when he touched her, instead of the spark flying from her to$4$ him,
123:240,35['  ]| immediately all the spark went dead in$4$ her.  And this left her so$5#1$ angry, she
123:240,36['  ]| could kill herself, or so$5#1$ wretched, she could not even cry.
123:240,37['  ]| That$6#2$ little goggle-eyed imp of a Jane, in$4$ spite of her one solitary year of
123:240,38['  ]| age, seemed somehow to$9$ divine what was happening inside her mother's
123:240,39['  ]| breast, and she seemed to$9$ chuckle wickedly.  Monica always felt that$3$ the brat
123:240,40['  ]| knew, and that$3$ she took Jack's side.
123:240,41['  ]| Jane always wanted Jack to$9$ come back.  When he was away, she would
123:240,42['  ]| toddle about on$4$ her own little affairs, curiously complacent and impervious
123:240,43['  ]| to$4$ outer influences.  But if she heard a horse coming up$5$ to$4$ the hut, she was at
123:240,44['  ]| the door in$4$ a flash.  And Monica saw with a pang, how steadily intent the brat
123:240,45['  ]| was on$4$ the man's return.  Somehow, from Jane, Monica knew that$3$ Jack would
123:241,01['  ]| go with other women.  Because of the spark that$6#1$ flashed to$4$ him from that$6#2$ brat
123:241,02['  ]| of a baby of Easu's.
123:241,03['  ]| And at evening, Jane hated going to$4$ bed if Jack had not come home.  She
123:241,04['  ]| would be a real little hell-monkey.  It was as if she felt the house was not safe,
123:241,05['  ]| was not real, till he had come in$5$.
123:241,06['  ]| Which$6#1$ annoyed Monica exceedingly.  
123:241,06@d   | Why was not the mother enough for$4$
123:241,07@d   | the child?
123:241,08['  ]| But she was not.  And when Jane was in$4$ bed.  Monica would take up$5$ the
123:241,09['  ]| uneasiness of the manless house.  She would sit like$4$ a cat shut up$5$ in$4$ a strange
123:241,10['  ]| room, unable to$9$ settle, unable really to$9$ rest, and hating the night for$4$ having
123:241,11['  ]| come and surprised her in$4$ her empty loneliness.  Her loneliness might be
123:241,12['  ]| really enjoyable during the day.  But after nightfall it was empty, sterile, a
123:241,13['  ]| mere oppression to$4$ her.  She wished he would come home, if only so$3$ that$3$ she
123:241,14['  ]| could hate him.
123:241,15['  ]| And she felt a flash of joy when she heard his footstep on$4$ the stones
123:241,16['  ]| outside, even if the flash served only to$9$ kindle a great resentment against
123:241,17['  ]| him.  And he would come in$5$, with his burnt, half-seeing face, unsuccessful,
123:241,18['  ]| worn, silent, yet not uncheerful.  And he spoke his few rather low words,
123:241,19['  ]| from his chest, asking her something.  And she knew he had come back to$4$
123:241,20['  ]| her.  But where from, and what from, she would never know entirely.
123:241,21['  ]| She had always known where Percy had been, and what he had been
123:241,22['  ]| doing.  She felt she would always have known, with Easu.  But with Jack she
123:241,23['  ]| never knew.  And sometimes this infuriated her.  But it was no$2$ good.  He
123:241,24['  ]| would tell her anything she asked.  And then she felt there was something she
123:241,25['  ]| could not ask about.
123:241,26['  ]| The months went by$5$.  He staked his claim, and worked like$4$ a navvy.  He \was\
123:241,27['  ]| a navvy, nothing but a navvy.  And she was a navvy's wife, in$4$ a hut of one
123:241,28['  ]| room, in$4$ a desert of heat and sand and grey-coloured bush, sleeping on$4$ a
123:241,29['  ]| piece of canvas stretched on$4$ a low trestle, eating on$4$ a tin plate, eating sand by$4$
123:241,30['  ]| the mouthful when the wind blew.  Percy's baby was dead and buried in$4$ the
123:241,31['  ]| sand:  another sop to$4$ the avid country.  And she herself was with child again,
123:241,32['  ]| and thin as a rat.  But it was his child this time, so$3$ she had a certain savage
123:241,33['  ]| satisfaction in$4$ it.
123:241,34['  ]| He went on$5$ working at his claim.  It was now more than a year he had spent
123:241,35['  ]| at this game of looking for$4$ gold, and he had hardly found a cent's worth.
123:241,36['  ]| They were very poor, in$4$ debt to$4$ the keeper of the store.  But everybody had a
123:241,37['  ]| queer respect for$4$ Jack.  They dared not be very familiar with him, but they
123:241,38['  ]| did not resent him.  He had a good aura.  The other men might jeer sometimes
123:241,39['  ]| at his frank but unapproachable aloofness, his subtle sort of delicacy, and his
123:241,40['  ]| simple sort of pride.  Yet when he was spoken to$5$, his answer was so$5#1$ much in$4$
123:241,41['  ]| the spirit of the question, so$5#1$ frank, that$3$ you could not resent him.  In$4$ ordinary
123:241,42['  ]| things he was gay and completely one of themselves.  The self that$6#1$ was
123:241,43['  ]| beyond them he never let intrude.  Hence their curious respect for$4$ him.
123:241,44['  ]| Because there was someting unordinary in$4$ him.  The biggest part of
123:241,45['  ]| himself he kept entirely to$4$ himself, and a curious sombre steadfastness inside
123:242,01['  ]| him made shifty men uneasy with him.  He could never completely mix in$5$, in$4$
123:242,02['  ]| the vulgar way, with men.  He would take a drink with the rest, and laugh and
123:242,03['  ]| talk half an hour away.  Even get a bit tipsy and talk rather brilliantly.  But
123:242,04['  ]| always, always at the back of his eyes was this sombre aloofness, that$6#1$ could
123:242,05['  ]| never come forward and meet and mingle, but held back, apart, waiting.
123:242,06['  ]| They called him, after his father, the General.  But never was a General
123:242,07['  ]| with so$5#1$ small an army at his command.  He was playing a lone hand.  The mate
123:242,08['  ]| he was working with suddenly chucked up$5$ the job and travelled away, and
123:242,09['  ]| the General went on$5$ alone.  He moved about the camp at his ease.  When he
123:242,10['  ]| sat in$4$ the bar drinking his beer with the other men, he was really alone, and
123:242,11['  ]| they knew it.  But he had a good aura, so$3$ they felt a certain respect for$4$ his
123:242,12['  ]| loneliness.  And when he was there they talked and behaved as if in$4$ the aura
123:242,13['  ]| of a certain blood-purity, although he was in$4$ rags, for$3$ Monica hated sewing
123:242,14['  ]| and could not bear, simply could not bear to$9$ mend his old shirts and trousers.
123:242,15['  ]| And there was no$2$ money to$9$ buy new.
123:242,16['  ]| He held on$5$.  He did not get depressed or melancholy.  When he got
123:242,17['  ]| absolutely stumped, he went away and did hired work for$4$ a spell.  Then he
123:242,18['  ]| came back to$4$ the gold field.  He was now nothing but a miner.  The miner's
123:242,19['  ]| instinct had developed in$4$ him.  He had to$9$ wait for$4$ his instinct to$9$ perfect itself.
123:242,20['  ]| He knew that$6#2$.  He knew he was not a man to$9$ be favoured by$4$ blind luck.
123:242,21['  ]| Whatever he won, he must win by$4$ mystic conquest.
123:242,22['  ]| If he wanted gold he must master it in$4$ the veins of the earth.  He knew this.
123:242,23['  ]| And for$4$ this reason he gave way neither to$4$ melancholy nor to$4$ impatience.  
123:242,23[A  ]| "If
123:242,24[A  ]| I can not win," 
123:242,24['  ]| he said to$4$ himself, 
123:242,24[A  ]| "it is because I am not master of the thing I am
123:242,25[A  ]| up$5$ against."
123:242,26[A  ]| "If I can not win, I will$1$ die fighting," 
123:242,26['  ]| he said to$4$ himself.  
123:242,26[A  ]| "But in$4$ the end I will$1$
123:242,27[A  ]| win."
123:242,28['  ]| There was nothing to$9$ do but to$9$ fight, and fight on$5$.  This was his creed.  And
123:242,29['  ]| a fighter has no$2$ use for$4$ melancholy and impatience.
123:242,30['  ]| He saw the fight his boyhood had been, against his aunts, and school and
123:242,31['  ]| college.  
123:242,31@a   | He did not want to$9$ be made \quite\ tame, and they had wanted to$9$ tame
123:242,32@a   | him, like$4$ all the rest.  His father was a good man and a good soldier:  but a
123:242,33@a   | tame one.  He himself was not a soldier, nor even a good man.  But also he was
123:242,34@a   | not tame.  Not a tame dog, like$4$ all the rest.
123:242,35@a   | For$4$ this reason he had come to$4$ Australia, away from the welter of vicious
123:242,36@a   | tameness.  For$3$ tame dogs are far more vicious than wild ones.  Only they can
123:242,37@a   | be brought to$4$ heel.
123:242,38@a   | In$4$ Australia, a new sort of fight.  A fight with tame dogs that$6#1$ were playing
123:242,39@a   | wild.  Easu was a tame dog, playing the wolf in$4$ a mongrel, back-biting way.
123:242,40@a   | Tame dogs escaped and became licentious.  That$6#2$ was Australia.  He knew
123:242,41@a   | that$6#2$.
123:242,42@a   | But they were not all quite tame.  Tom, the safe Tom, had salt of wild
123:242,43@a   | savour still in$4$ his blood.  And Lennie had his wild streak.  So$5#2$ had Monica.  So$5#2$,
123:242,44@a   | somewhere had the \9a*terre\ Mary.  Some odd freakish wildness of the splendid,
123:242,45@a   | powerful, wild, old English blood.
123:243,01['  ]| Jack had escaped the tamers:  
123:243,01@a   | they could not touch him now.  He had
123:243,02@a   | escaped the insidious tameness, the slight degeneracy, of Wandoo.  He had
123:243,03@a   | learned the tricks of the escaped tame dogs who$6#1$ played at licentiousness.
123:243,04@a   | And he had mastered Monica, who$6#1$ had wanted to$9$ be a domestic bitch
123:243,05@a   | playing wild.  He had captured her wildness, to$9$ mate his own wildness.
123:243,06@a   | It was no$2$ good \playing\ wild.  If he had any real wildness in$4$ him, it was dark,
123:243,07@a   | and wary, and collected, self-responsible, and of unbreakable steadfastness:
123:243,08@a   | like$4$ the wildness of a wolf or a fox, that$6#1$ knows it will$1$ die if it is caught.
123:243,09@a   | If you had a tang of the old wildness in$4$ you, you ran with the most intense
123:243,10@a   | wariness, knowing that$3$ the good tame dogs are really turning into licentious,
123:243,11@a   | vicious tame dogs.  The vicious tame dogs, pretending to$9$ be wild, hate the
123:243,12@a   | real clean wildness of an unbroken thing much more than do the respectable
123:243,13@a   | tame people.
123:243,14@a   | No$7$, if you refuse to$9$ be tamed, you have to$9$ be most wary, most subtle, on$4$
123:243,15@a   | your guard all the time.  You can not afford to$9$ be licentious.  If you are, you will$1$
123:243,16@a   | die in$4$ the trap.  For$3$ the world is a great trap set wide for$4$ the unwary.
123:243,17['  ]| Jack had learned all these things.  He refused to$9$ be tamed.  He knew that$3$
123:243,18@a   | the dark kingdom of death ahead had no$2$ room for$4$ tame dogs.  They merely
123:243,19@a   | were put into earth as carrion.  Only the wild, untamed souls walked on$5$ after
123:243,20@a   | death over the border into the porch of death, to$9$ be lords of death and
123:243,21@a   | masters of the next living.  This he knew.  The tame dogs were put into the
123:243,22@a   | earth as carrion, like$4$ Easu and Percy's poor little baby, and Jacob*Ellis.  He
123:243,23@a   | often wondered if that$6#2$ courageous old witch-cat of a Gran had slipped into
123:243,24@a   | the halls of death, to$9$ be one of the ladies of the dark.  The lords of death, and
123:243,25@a   | the ladies of the dark!  He would take his own Monica over the border when
123:243,26@a   | she died.  She would sit unbroken, a quiet, fearless bride in$4$ the dark chambers
123:243,27@a   | of the dead, the dead who$6#1$ order the goings of the next living.
123:243,28@a   | That$6#2$ was the goal of the afterwards, that$6#1$ he had at the back of his eyes.  But
123:243,29@a   | meanwhile here on$4$ earth he had to$9$ win.  He had to$9$ make room again on$4$ earth
123:243,30@a   | for$4$ those who$6#1$ are not unbroken, those who$6#1$ are not tamed to$4$ carrion.  Some
123:243,31@a   | place for$4$ those who$6#1$ know the dark mystery of being royal in$4$ death, so$3$ that$3$
123:243,32@a   | they can enact the shadow of their own royalty on$4$ earth.  Some place for$4$ the
123:243,33@a   | souls that$6#1$ are in$4$ themselves dark and have some of the sumptousness of
123:243,34@a   | proud death, no$2$ matter what their fathers were.  Jack's father was tame, as
123:243,35@a   | kings and dukes to-day are almost mongrelly tame.  But Jack was not tame.
123:243,36@a   | And Easu's weird baby was not tame.  She had some of the eternal fearlessness
123:243,37@a   | of the aristocrat whose bones are pure.  But a weird sort of aristocrat.
123:243,38@a   | Jack wanted to$9$ make a place on$4$ earth for$4$ a few aristocrats-to-the-bone.  He
123:243,39@a   | wanted to$9$ conquer the world.
123:243,40@a   | And first he must conquer gold.  As things are, only the tame go out and
123:243,41@a   | conquer gold, and make a lucrative tameness.  The untamed forfeit their
123:243,42@a   | gold.
123:243,43[A  ]| "I must conquer gold!"  
123:243,43['  ]| said Jack to$4$ himself.  
123:243,43[A  ]| "I must open the veins of the
123:243,44[A  ]| earth and bleed the power of gold into my own veins, for$4$ the fulfilling of the
123:243,45[A  ]| aristocrats of the bone.  I must bring the great stream of gold flowing in$4$
123:244,01[A  ]| another direction, away from the veins of the tame ones, into the veins of the
123:244,02[A  ]| lords of death.  I must start the river of wealth of the world rolling in$4$ a new
123:244,03[A  ]| course, down the sombre, quiet, proud valleys of the lords of death and the
123:244,04[A  ]| ladies of the dark, the aristocrats of the afterwards."
123:244,05['  ]| So$3$ he talked to$4$ himself, as he wandered alone in$4$ his search, or sat on$4$ the
123:244,06['  ]| bench with a pot of beer, or stepped into Monica's hot little hut.  And when he
123:244,07['  ]| failed he knew it was because he had not fought intensely enough, and subtly
123:244,08['  ]| enough.
123:244,09['  ]| The bad food, the climate, the hard life gave him a sort of fever and an
123:244,10['  ]| eczema.  But it was no$2$ matter.  That$6#2$ was only the pulp of him paying the
123:244,11['  ]| penalty.  The powerful skeleton he was was powerful as ever.  The pulp of
123:244,12['  ]| him, his belly, his heart, his muscle seemed not to$9$ be able to$9$ affect his
123:244,13['  ]| strength, or at least his power, for$4$ more than a short time.  Sometimes he
123:244,14['  ]| broke down.  Then he would think what he could do with himself, do for$4$
123:244,15['  ]| himself, for$4$ his flesh and blood.  And what he \could\ do, he would do.  And
123:244,16['  ]| when he could do no$2$ more, he would go and lie down in$4$ the mine, or hidden
123:244,17['  ]| in$4$ some shade, lying on$4$ the earth, alone, away from anything human.  Till the
123:244,18['  ]| earth itself gave him back his power.  Till the powerful living skeleton of him
123:244,19['  ]| resumed its sway and serenity and fierce power.
123:244,20['  ]| He knew 
123:244,20@a   | he was winning, winning slowly, even in$4$ his fight with the earth,
123:244,21@a   | his fight for$4$ gold.  It was on$4$ the cards he might die before his victory.  Then it
123:244,22@a   | would be death, he would have to$9$ accept it.  He would have to$9$ go into death,
123:244,23@a   | and leave Monica and Jane and the coming baby to$4$ fate.
123:244,24['  ]| Meanwhile, he would fight, and fight on$5$.  The baby was near, there was no$2$
123:244,25['  ]| money.  He had to$9$ stay and watch Monica.  She, poor thing, went to$4$ bed with
123:244,26['  ]| twins, two boys.  There was nothing hardly left of her.  He had to$9$ give up$5$
123:244,27['  ]| everything, even his thoughts, and bend his whole life to$4$ her, to$9$ help her
123:244,28['  ]| through, and save her and the two quite healthy baby boys.  For$4$ a month he
123:244,29['  ]| was doctor and nurse and housewife and husband, and he gave himself
123:244,30['  ]| absolutely to$4$ the work, without a moment's failing.  Poor Monica, when she
123:244,31['  ]| could not bear herself, he held her hips together with his arm, and she clung
123:244,32['  ]| to$4$ his neck for$4$ life.
123:244,33['  ]| This time he almost gave up$5$.  He almost decided to$9$ go and hire himself out
123:244,34['  ]| to$4$ steady work, to$9$ keep her and the babies in$4$ peace and safety.  To$9$ be a hired
123:244,35['  ]| workman for$4$ the rest of his days.
123:244,36['  ]| And as he sat with his eyes dark and unchanging, ready to$9$ accept this fate,
123:244,37['  ]| since this his fate must be, came a letter from Mr*George with an enclosure
123:244,38['  ]| from England and a cheque for$4$ fifty pounds, a legacy from one of the aunts
123:244,39['  ]| who$6#1$ had so$5#1$ benevolently died at the right moment.  He decided his dark Lord
123:244,40['  ]| did not intend him to$9$ go and hire himself out for$4$ life, as a hired labourer.  He
123:244,41['  ]| decided Monica and the babies did not want the peace and safety of a hired
123:244,42['  ]| labourer's cottage.  Perhaps better die and be buried in$4$ the sand and leave
123:244,43['  ]| their skeletons like$4$ white messengers in$4$ the ground of this Australia.
123:244,44['  ]| So$3$ he went back to$4$ his working.  And three days later struck gold, so$3$ that$3$
123:244,45['  ]| there was gold on$4$ his pick-point.  He was alone, and he refused at first to$9$ get
123:245,01['  ]| excited.  But his trained instinct knew that$3$ it was a rich lode.  He worked along
123:245,02['  ]| the vein, and felt the rich weight of the yellow-streaked stuff he fetched out.
123:245,03['  ]| The light-coloured softish stuff.  He was looking at it in$4$ his hand, and the glint
123:245,04['  ]| of it in$4$ the dark earth-rock of the mine, in$4$ the light of the lamp.  And his
123:245,05['  ]| bowels leaped in$4$ him, knowing that$3$ the white gold of tameness would wilt
123:245,06['  ]| and perish as the pale gold flowed out of their veins.
123:245,07@a   | There would be a place on$4$ earth for$4$ the lords of death.  His own Lord had
123:245,08@a   | at last spoken.
123:245,09['  ]| Jack sent quickly for$4$ Lennie to$9$ come and work with him.  For$3$ Lennie, with
123:245,10['  ]| a wife and child, was struggling very hard.
123:245,11['  ]| Len and Tom both came. Jack had not expected Tom.  But Tom lifted his
123:245,12['  ]| brown eyes to$4$ Jack and said:
123:245,13[H  ]| "I sortta felt I could not stand even Len being mates with you, and me not
123:245,14[H  ]| there.  I was your first mate, Jack.  I have never been myself since I parted with
123:245,15[H  ]| you."
123:245,16[A  ]| "All right," 
123:245,16['  ]| laughed Jack.  
123:245,16[A  ]| "You are my first mate."
123:245,17[H  ]| "That$6#2$ is what I am, General," 
123:245,17['  ]| said Tom.
123:245,18['  ]| Jack had showed Monica some of the ore, and told her the mine seemed to$9$
123:245,19['  ]| be turning out fairly.  She was getting back her own strength, that$6#1$ those two
123:245,20['  ]| monstrous young twins had almost robbed from her entirely.  Jack was very
123:245,21['  ]| careful of her.  He wanted above all things that$3$ she should become really
123:245,22['  ]| strong again.
123:245,23['  ]| And she, with her rare vitality, soon began to$9$ bloom once more.  And as her
123:245,24['  ]| strength came back she was very much taken up$5$ with her babies.  These were
123:245,25['  ]| the first she had enjoyed.  The other two she had never really enjoyed.  But
123:245,26['  ]| with these she was as fussy as a young cat with her kittens.  She almost forgot
123:245,27['  ]| Jack entirely.  Left him to$9$ be busy with Tom and Lennie and his mine.  Even
123:245,28['  ]| the gold failed to$9$ excite her.
123:245,29['  ]| And she had rather a triumph.  She was able to$9$ be queenly again with Tom
123:245,30['  ]| and Lennie.  As a girl she had always been a bit queenly with the rest of them
123:245,31['  ]| at Wandoo.  And she could not bear to$9$ be humiliated in$4$ their eyes.
123:245,32@d   | Now she need not.  She had the General for$4$ her husband, she had his twins.
123:245,33@d   | And \he\ had gold in$4$ his mine.  Had not she a perfect right to$9$ be queenly with
123:245,34@d   | Tom and Lennie?  
123:245,34['  ]| She even got into the habit, right at the beginning, of
123:245,35['  ]| speaking of Jack as "the General" to$4$ them.
123:245,36[D  ]| "Where is the General?  Did not he come down with you?"  
123:245,36['  ]| she would snap at
123:245,37['  ]| them, in$4$ her old, sparky fashion.
123:245,38[J  ]| "He is reviewing his troops," 
123:245,38['  ]| Lennie sarcastically answered.
123:245,39['  ]| Whereupon Jack appeared in$4$ the door, still in$4$ rags.  And it was Lennie who$6#1$
123:245,40['  ]| mended his shirt for$4$ him, when it was torn on$4$ the shoulder and showed the
123:245,41['  ]| smooth man underneath.  Monica still could not bring herself to$4$ these fiddling
123:245,42['  ]| jobs.
124:246,00[U  ]| <The Offer to$4$ Mary>
124:246,01['  ]| They worked for$4$ months at the mine, and still it turned out richly.
124:246,02['  ]| Though they kept as quiet as possible, the fame spread.  They had a
124:246,03['  ]| bonanza.  They were all three going to$9$ be rich, and Jack was going to$9$ be very
124:246,04['  ]| rich.  In$4$ the light of his luck, he was "the General" to$4$ everybody.
124:246,05['  ]| And in$4$ the midst of this flow of fortune, came another, rather comical
124:246,06['  ]| windfall.  Again the news was forwarded by$4$ Mr*George, along with a word of
124:246,07['  ]| congratulations from that$6#2$ gentleman.  The forwarded letter read:
124:246,08[Y  ]| "Dear Sir,
124:246,09[Y  ]| This come hopping to$9$ find you well as it leaves me at prisent thanks be to$4$
124:246,10[Y  ]| almity God.  Your dear uncle Passed Away peaceful on$4$ Satterday nite And
124:246,11[Y  ]| though it be not my place to$9$ tell you of it i am Grateful to$9$ have the oppertunity
124:246,12[Y  ]| to$9$ offer my umble Respects before the lord and Perlice I take up$5$ my pen
124:246,13[Y  ]| with pleashr to$9$ inform you that$3$ He passed without Pain and even Drafts as he
124:246,14[Y  ]| aloud the umberrela to$9$ be put down and the Book read.
124:246,15[Y  ]| The 24 salm and i kep the ink and paper by$5$ to$9$ rite of his sudden dismiss
124:246,16[Y  ]| but he lingered long years after the bote wint so$3$ was onable to$9$ Inform you
124:246,17[Y  ]| before he desist the doctor rote a butiful certicket of death saying he did of
124:246,18[Y  ]| sensible decay but I don no$2$ how he brote himself to$9$ rite it as the pore master
124:246,19[Y  ]| was wite as driven snow and no$2$ blemish.  And being his most umble and
124:246,20[Y  ]| Dutiful servants we could not ave brout ourself to$9$ hever ave rote as he was
124:246,21[Y  ]| sensible Pecos god knows the pore sole was not.  be that$6#2$ as it may we burried
124:246,22[Y  ]| him proud under the prisent arrangements of town council the clerk was
124:246,23[Y  ]| prisent xpects the doctors will$1$ he mad up$5$ the nite you was hear in$4$ the
124:246,24[Y  ]| cimetary and pending your Return Holds It In$4$ Bond as Being rite for$4$ us we
124:246,25[Y  ]| are Yor Respectable servants to$9$ Oblige Hand Commend
124:246,26[Y  ]| EMMA AND AMOS LEWIS."
124:246,27['  ]| Jack and Tom roared with laughter over this epistle, that$6#1$ brought back so$5#1$
124:246,28['  ]| vividly the famous trip up$5$ north.
124:246,29[H  ]| "Gloryanna, General, you have got your property at Coney*Hatch all right,"
124:246,30['  ]| said Tom.
124:246,31['  ]| There was a letter from  Mr*George saying that$3$ 
124:246,31@c   | the defunct John*Grant was
124:246,32@c   | the son of Jack's mother's elder sister, that$3$ he had been liable all his life to$4$
124:246,33@c   | bouts of temporary insanity, but that$3$ in$4$ a period of sanity he had signed the
124:246,34@c   | will$0$ drawn up$5$ by$4$ Dr*Rackett, when the two boys called at the place several
124:246,35@c   | years before, and that$3$ the will$0$ had been approved.  So$3$ that$3$ Jack, as legal heir
124:246,36@c   | and nearest male relative, could now come down and take possession of the
124:246,37@c   | farm.
124:247,01[A  ]| "I do not want that$6#2$ dismal place," 
124:247,01['  ]| said Jack.  
124:247,01[A  ]| "Let it go to$4$ the Crown.  I have no$2$
124:247,02[A  ]| need of it now."
124:247,03[H  ]| "Do not be a silly cuckoo!"  
124:247,03['  ]| said Tom.  
124:247,03[H  ]| "You saw it of a wet night with Ally*Sloper
124:247,04[H  ]| in$4$ bed under a green cart-umbrella.  Go and look at it of a fine day.  And
124:247,05[H  ]| then if you do not want it, sell it or lease it, but do not let the Crown rake it in$5$."
124:247,06['  ]| So$3$ in$4$ about a fortnight's time Jack rather reluctantly left the mine, with its
124:247,07['  ]| growing heaps of refuse, and departed from the mining settlement which$6#1$
124:247,08['  ]| had become a sort of voluntary prison for$4$ him, and went west to$4$ Perth.  He
124:247,09['  ]| was already a rich man and notorious in$4$ the colony.  He rode with two pistols
124:247,10['  ]| in$4$ his belt, and that$6#2$ unchanging aloof look on$4$ his face.  But he carried himself
124:247,11['  ]| with pride, rode a good horse, wore well-made riding breeches and a fine
124:247,12['  ]| bandanna handkerchief loose round his neck, and looked, with a silver
124:247,13['  ]| studded band round his broad felt hat, a mixture of gold miner, a gentleman
124:247,14['  ]| settler, and a bandit chief.  Perhaps he felt a mixture of them all.
124:247,15['  ]| Mr*George received him with a great welcome.  And Jack was pleased to$9$ see
124:247,16['  ]| the old man.  But he refused absolutely to$9$ go to$4$ the club or to$4$ the Government*House,
124:247,17['  ]| or to$9$ meet any of the responsible people of the town.
124:247,18[A  ]| "I do not want to$9$ see them, Mr*George.  I do not want to$9$ see them."
124:247,19['  ]| And poor old George, his nose a bit out of joint, had to$9$ submit to$4$ leaving
124:247,20['  ]| Jack alone.
124:247,21['  ]| Jack had his old room in$4$ Mr*George's house.  The Good Plain Cook was still
124:247,22['  ]| going.  And Aunt*Matilda, rather older, stouter, with more lines in$4$ her face,
124:247,23['  ]| came to$4$ tea with Mary and Miss*Blessington.  Mary had not married Mr*Blessington.
124:247,24['  ]| But she had remained friends with the odd daughter, who$6#1$ was
124:247,25['  ]| now a self-contained young woman, shy, thin, well-bred, and delicate.  Mr*Blessington
124:247,26['  ]| had not married again.  In$4$ Aunt*Matilda's opinion, he was still
124:247,27['  ]| waiting for$4$ Mary.  And Mary had refused Tom's rather doubtful offer.  Tom
124:247,28['  ]| was still nervous about Honeysuckle.  So$5#2$ there they all were.
124:247,29['  ]| When Jack shook hands with Mary he had a slight shock.  He had forgotten
124:247,30['  ]| her.  She had gone out of his consciousness.  But when she looked up$5$ at him
124:247,31['  ]| with her dark, clear, waiting eyes, as if she had been watching and waiting for$4$
124:247,32['  ]| him afar off, his heart gave a queer, dizzy lurch.  He had forgotten her.  They
124:247,33['  ]| say the heart has a short memory.  But now, as a dark hotness gathered in$4$ his
124:247,34['  ]| heart, he realised that$3$ his blood had not forgotten her.  He had only forgotten
124:247,35['  ]| her with his head.  His blood, with its strange submissiveness and its
124:247,36['  ]| strange unawareness of time, had kept her just the same.
124:247,37['  ]| The blood has an eternal memory.  It neither forgets nor moves on$5$ ahead.
124:247,38['  ]| But it is quiescent and submits to$4$ the mind's oversway.
124:247,39['  ]| He had a certain blood-connection with Mary.  He had utterly forgotten it,
124:247,40['  ]| in$4$ the stress and rage of other things.  And now, the moment she lifted her
124:247,41['  ]| eyes to$4$ him, and he saw her dusky, quiet, heavy, permanent face, the dull
124:247,42['  ]| heat started in$4$ his breast again, and he remembered how he had told her he
124:247,43['  ]| would come for$4$ her again.
124:247,44['  ]| Since his twins were born and he had been so$5#1$ busy with the mine, and he
124:247,45['  ]| had Monica, he had not given any thought to$4$ women.  But the moment he
124:248,01['  ]| saw Mary and met her eyes, the dark thought struck home in$4$ him again:  
124:248,01@a   | I
124:248,02@a   | want Mary for$4$ my other woman.  He did not want to$9$ displace Monica.  Monica
124:248,03@a   | was Monica.  But he wanted this other woman, too.
124:248,04['  ]| Aunt*Matilda "dear-boyed" him more than ever.  But now he was not a
124:248,05['  ]| dear boy, he did not feel a dear boy, and she was put out.
124:248,06[F  ]| "Dear boy!  and how does Monica stand that$6#2$ trying climate?"
124:248,07[A  ]| "She is quite well again, Marm."
124:248,08[F  ]| "Poor child!  Poor child!  I hope you will$1$ bring her into a suitable home here
124:248,09[F  ]| in$4$ Perth and have the children suitably brought up$5$.  It is so$5#1$ \fortunate\ for$4$ you
124:248,10[F  ]| your mine is so$5#1$ successful.  Now you can build a home here by$4$ the river,
124:248,11[F  ]| among us all, and be charming company for$4$ us, like$4$ your dear father."
124:248,12['  ]| Mary was watching him with black eyes, and Miss*Blessington with her
124:248,13['  ]| wide, quick, round, dark-grey eyes.  There was a frail beauty about that$6#2$ odd
124:248,14['  ]| young woman; frail, highly-bred, sensitive, with an uncanny intelligence.
124:248,15[A  ]| "No$7$, Marm," 
124:248,15['  ]| said Jack cheerfully.  
124:248,15[A  ]| "I shall not come and live in$4$ Perth."
124:248,16[F  ]| "Dear boy, of course you will$1$.  You will$1$ not forsake us and take your money
124:248,17[F  ]| and your family and your attractive self far away to$4$ England?  No$7$, do not do
124:248,18[F  ]| that$6#2$.  It is just what your dear father did.  Robbed us of one of our sweetest
124:248,19[F  ]| girls, and never came back."
124:248,20[A  ]| "No$7$, I shall not go to$4$ England, either," 
124:248,20['  ]| smiled Jack.
124:248,21[F  ]| "Then what will$1$ you do?"
124:248,22[A  ]| "Stay at the mine for$4$ the time being."
124:248,23[F  ]| "Oh, but the mine will$1$ not last for*ever.  And, dear boy, do not waste your
124:248,24[F  ]| talents and your charm mining, when it is no$2$ longer necessary!  Oh, do come
124:248,25[F  ]| down to$4$ Perth, and bring your family.  Mary is pining to$9$ see your twins:  and
124:248,26[F  ]| dear Monica.  Of course we all are."
124:248,27['  ]| Jack smiled to$4$ himself.  
124:248,27@a   | He would no$2$ longer give in$5$ a hair's breadth to$4$ any
124:248,28@a   | of these dreary world-people.
124:248,29[A  ]| "9A*la*bonne*heure!"  
124:248,29['  ]| he said, using one of his mother's well-worn tags.  But
124:248,30['  ]| then his mother could rattle bad colloquial French, and he could not.
124:248,31['  ]| Mary asked him many questions about the mine and Monica, and Hilda*Blessington
124:248,32['  ]| listened with lowered head, only occasionally fixing him with
124:248,33['  ]| queer, searching eyes, like$4$ some odd creature not quite human.  Jack was
124:248,34['  ]| something of a hero.  And he was pleased.  He wanted to$9$ be a hero.
124:248,35['  ]| But he was no$2$ hero any more for$4$ Aunt*Matilda.  Now that$3$ the cherub look
124:248,36['  ]| had gone for*ever, and the shy, blushing, blurting boy had turned into a
124:248,37['  ]| hard-boned, healthy young man with a half haughty aloofness and a little
124:248,38['  ]| reckless smile that$6#1$ made you feel uncomfortable, she was driven to$4$ venting
124:248,39['  ]| some venom on$4$ him.
124:248,40[F  ]| "That$6#2$ is the worst of the colonies," 
124:248,40['  ]| she said from her bluish powdered face.
124:248,41[F  ]| "Our most charming, cultured young men go out to$4$ the back of beyond, and
124:248,42[F  ]| they come home quite ~~ quite ~~ "
124:248,43[A  ]| "Quite what, Marm?"
124:248,44[F  ]| "Why, I was going to$9$ say uncouth, but that$6#2$ is perhaps a little strong."
124:248,45[A  ]| "I should say not at all," 
124:248,45['  ]| he answered.  He disliked the old lady, and
124:249,01['  ]| enjoyed baiting her.  
124:249,01@a   | Great stout old hen, she had played cock-o'-the-walk
124:249,02@a   | long enough.
124:249,03[F  ]| "How many children have you got out there?"  
124:249,03['  ]| she suddenly asked, rudely.
124:249,04[A  ]| "We have only the twins of my own," 
124:249,04['  ]| he answered.  
124:249,04[A  ]| "But, of course, there is
124:249,05[A  ]| Jane."
124:249,06[F  ]| "Jane!  Jane!  Which$6#2$ is Jane?"
124:249,07[A  ]| "Jane is Easu's child.  Monica's first."
124:249,08['  ]| Everybody started.  It was as if a bomb had been dropped in$4$ the room.  Miss*Blessington
124:249,09['  ]| coloured to$4$ the roots of her fleecy brown hair.  Mary studied her
124:249,10['  ]| fingers, and Aunt*Matilda sat in$4$ a Queen*Victoria statue pose, outraged.
124:249,11[B  ]| "What is she like$4$?"  
124:249,11['  ]| asked Mary softly, looking up$5$.
124:249,12[A  ]| "Who$6#2$, Jane?  She is a funny little urchin.  I am fond of her.  I believe she would
124:249,13[A  ]| always stand by$4$ me."
124:249,14['  ]| Mary looked at him.  
124:249,14@b   | It was a curious thing to$9$ say.
124:249,15[B  ]| "Is that$6#2$ how you think of people ~~ whether they would always stand by$4$ you
124:249,16[B  ]| or not?"  
124:249,16['  ]| she asked softly.
124:249,17[A  ]| "I suppose it is," 
124:249,17['  ]| he laughed.  
124:249,17[A  ]| "Courage is the first quality in$4$ life, do not you
124:249,18[A  ]| think?  and fidelity the next."
124:249,19[B  ]| "Fidelity?"  
124:249,19['  ]| asked Mary.
124:249,20[A  ]| "Oh, I do not mean automatic fidelity.  I mean faithful to$4$ the living spark,"
124:249,21['  ]| he replied a little hastily.
124:249,22[F  ]| "Do not you try to$9$ be too much of a spark, young man," 
124:249,22['  ]| snapped Aunt*Matilda,
124:249,23['  ]| arousing from her statuesque offence in$4$ order to$9$ let nothing pass by$4$
124:249,24['  ]| her.
124:249,25[A  ]| "I promise you I will$1$ not try," 
124:249,25['  ]| he laughed.
124:249,26['  ]| Mary glanced at him quickly ~~ then down at her fingers.
124:249,27[B  ]| "I think fidelity is a great problem," 
124:249,27['  ]| she said softly.
124:249,28[F  ]| "Pray why," 
124:249,28['  ]| bounced Aunt*Matilda.  
124:249,28[F  ]| "You give your word, and you stick to$4$
124:249,29[F  ]| it."
124:249,30[A  ]| "Oh, it is not just simple word-faithfulness, Mrs*Watson," 
124:249,30['  ]| said Jack.  He had
124:249,31['  ]| Mary in$4$ mind.
124:249,32[F  ]| "Well, I suppose I have still to$9$ live and learn," 
124:249,32['  ]| said Aunt*Matilda.
124:249,33[C  ]| "What is that$6#1$ you have still to$9$ live and learn, Matilda?"  
124:249,33['  ]| said Mr*George,
124:249,34['  ]| coming in$5$ again with papers.
124:249,35[F  ]| "This young man is teaching me lessons about life.  Courage is the first
124:249,36[F  ]| quality in$4$ life, if you please."
124:249,37[C  ]| "Well, why not?"  
124:249,37['  ]| said Old George amiably.  
124:249,37[C  ]| "I like$1$ spunk myself."
124:249,38[F  ]| "Courage to$9$ do the right thing!" 
124:249,38['  ]| said Aunt*Matilda.
124:249,39[C  ]| "And who$6#2$ is going to$9$ decide which$6#1$ is the right thing?"  
124:249,39['  ]| asked the old man,
124:249,40['  ]| teasing her.
124:249,41[F  ]| "There is no$2$ question of it," 
124:249,41['  ]| said Aunt*Matilda.
124:249,42[C  ]| "Well," 
124:249,42['  ]| said the old lawyer rubbing his head, 
124:249,42[C  ]| "there often is, my dear
124:249,43[C  ]| woman, a very big question!"
124:249,44[B  ]| "And fidelity is the second virtue," 
124:249,44['  ]| said Mary, looking up$5$ at him with
124:249,45['  ]| trustful eyes, enquiringly.
124:250,01[C  ]| "A man is no$2$ good unless he can keep faith," 
124:250,01['  ]| said the old man.
124:250,02[K  ]| "But what is it one must remain faithful to$4$?"  
124:250,02['  ]| came the quiet, cool voice of
124:250,03['  ]| Hilda*Blessington.
124:250,04[A  ]| "Do you know what old Gran*Ellis said?"  
124:250,04['  ]| asked Jack.  
124:250,04[A  ]| "She said a man's own
124:250,05[A  ]| true self is God in$4$ him.  She was a queer old bird."
124:250,06[F  ]| "His \true\ self," 
124:250,06['  ]| said Aunt*Matilda.  
124:250,06[F  ]| "His true self!  And I should say old Mrs*Ellis
124:250,07[F  ]| was a doubtful guide to$4$ young people, judging from her own family."
124:250,08[A  ]| "She made a great impression on$4$ me, Marm," 
124:250,08['  ]| said Jack politely.
124:250,09['  ]| Mr*George had brought the papers referring to$4$ the new property.  Jack
124:250,10['  ]| read various documents, rather absently.  Then the title deeds.  Then he
124:250,11['  ]| studied a fascinating little green-and-red map, "delineating and setting
124:250,12['  ]| forth," with "easements and encumbrances," whatever they were.  There was
124:250,13['  ]| a bank-book showing a balance of four hundred pounds nineteen shillings
124:250,14['  ]| and sixpence, in$4$ the West*Australian*Bank.
124:250,15['  ]| Jack told about his visit to$4$ the Grant farm, and the man under the
124:250,16['  ]| umbrella.  They all laughed.
124:250,17[C  ]| "The poor fellow had a bad start," 
124:250,17['  ]| said Mr*George.  
124:250,17[C  ]| "But he was a good
124:250,18[C  ]| farmer and a good business man, in$4$ his right times.  Oh, he knew who$6#1$ he was
124:250,19[C  ]| leaving the place to$4$, when Rackett drew up$5$ that$6#2$ will$0$."
124:250,20[A  ]| "Gran*Ellis told me about him," 
124:250,20['  ]| said Jack.  
124:250,20[A  ]| "She told me about all the old
124:250,21[A  ]| people.  She told me about my mother's old sister.  And she told me about the
124:250,22[A  ]| father of this crazy man as well, but ~~ "
124:250,23['  ]| Mr*George was looking at him coldly and fiercely.
124:250,24[C  ]| "The poor fellow's father," 
124:250,24['  ]| the old man said, 
124:250,24[C  ]| "was an Englishman who$6#1$
124:250,25[C  ]| thought himself a swell, but was not too much of a high-born gentleman to$9$
124:250,26[C  ]| abandon a decent girl and go round to$4$ the east side and marry another
124:250,27[C  ]| woman, and flaunt round in$4$ society with women he had not married."
124:250,28['  ]| Jack remembered.  
124:250,28@a   | It was Mary's father:  seventh son of old Lord*Haworth.
124:250,29@a   | What a mix up$5$!  How bitter old George sounded!
124:250,30[A  ]| "It seems to$9$ have been a mighty mix-up out here, fifty years ago, sir," 
124:250,30['  ]| he
124:250,31['  ]| said mildly.
124:250,32[C  ]| "It was a mix-up then ~~ and is a mix-up now."
124:250,33[A  ]| "I suppose," 
124:250,33['  ]| said Jack, 
124:250,33[A  ]| "if the villain of a gentleman had never abandoned
124:250,34[A  ]| my aunt ~~ I can not think of her as an aunt ~~ he would never have gone to$4$ Sydney,
124:250,35[A  ]| and his children that$6#1$ he had there would never have been born."
124:250,36[C  ]| "I suppose not," 
124:250,36['  ]| said Mr*George drily.  But he started a little and involuntarily
124:250,37['  ]| looked at Mary.
124:250,38[A  ]| "Do you think it would have been better if they had never been born?"  
124:250,38['  ]| Jack
124:250,39['  ]| asked pertinently.
124:250,40[C  ]| "I do not set up$5$ to$9$ judge," 
124:250,40['  ]| said the old man.
124:250,41[A  ]| "Does Mrs*Watson?"
124:250,42[F  ]| "I certainly think it would be better," 
124:250,42['  ]| said Mrs*Watson, 
124:250,42[F  ]| "if that$6#2$ poor
124:250,43[F  ]| half-idiot cousin of yours had never been born."
124:250,44[A  ]| "I have got Gran*Ellis on$4$ my mind," 
124:250,44['  ]| said Jack.  
124:250,44[A  ]| "She was funny, what she
124:250,45[A  ]| condemned and what she did not.  I used to$9$ think she was an old terror.  But I
124:251,01[A  ]| can understand her better now.  She was a wise woman, seems to$4$ me."
124:251,02[F  ]| "Indeed!"  
124:251,02['  ]| said Aunt*Matilda.  
124:251,02[F  ]| "I never put her and wisdom together."
124:251,03[A  ]| "Yes, she was wise.  I can see now.  She knew that$3$ sins are as vital a part of
124:251,04[A  ]| life as virtues, and she stuck up$5$ for$4$ the sins that$6#1$ are necessary to$4$ life."
124:251,05[C  ]| "What is the matter with you, Jack*Grant, that$3$ you go and start moralising?"
124:251,06['  ]| said Old George.
124:251,07[A  ]| "Why, sir, it must be that$3$ my own sinful state is dawning on$4$ my mind," 
124:251,07['  ]| said
124:251,08['  ]| Jack, 
124:251,08[A  ]| "and I am wondering whether to$9$ take Mrs*Watson's advice and repent
124:251,09[A  ]| and weep, etc%, etc%.  Or whether to$9$ follow old Gran*Ellis' lead, and put a sinful
124:251,10[A  ]| feather in$4$ my cap."
124:251,11[C  ]| "Well," 
124:251,11['  ]| said Old George, smiling.  
124:251,11[C  ]| "I do not know.  You talk about courage
124:251,12[C  ]| and fidelity.  Sin usually means doing something rather cowardly, and breaking
124:251,13[C  ]| your faith in$4$ some direction."
124:251,14[A  ]| "Oh, I do not know, sir.  Tom and Lennie are faithful to$4$ me.  But that$6#2$ does not
124:251,15[A  ]| mean they are not free.  They are free to$9$ do just what they like$1$, so$5#1$ long as they
124:251,16[A  ]| are faithful to$4$ the spark that$6#1$ is between us.  As I am faithful to$4$ them.  It seems
124:251,17[A  ]| to$4$ me, sir, one is true to$4$ one's \word\ in$4$ \business\, in$4$ affairs.  But in$4$ life one can
124:251,18[A  ]| only be true to$4$ the spark."
124:251,19[C  ]| "I am afraid there is something amiss with you, son, that$6#1$ has set you off
124:251,20[C  ]| arguing and splitting hairs."
124:251,21[A  ]| "There is.  Something is always amiss with most of us.  Old Gran*Ellis was a
124:251,22[A  ]| lesson to$4$ me, if I had known.  Something is always wrong with the lot of us.  And
124:251,23[A  ]| I believe in$4$ thinking before I act."
124:251,24[C  ]| "Let us hope so$5#2$," 
124:251,24['  ]| said Mr*George.  
124:251,24[C  ]| "But it sounds funny sort of thinking
124:251,25[C  ]| you do."
124:251,26[K  ]| "But," 
124:251,26['  ]| said Hilda*Blessington, with wide, haunted eyes, 
124:251,26[K  ]| "what is the spark
124:251,27[K  ]| that$6#1$ one must be faithful to$4$?  How are we to$9$ be sure of it?"
124:251,28[A  ]| "You just feel it.  And then you act upon$4$ it.  That$6#2$ is courage.  And then you
124:251,29[A  ]| always live up$5$ to$4$ the responsibility of your act.  That$6#2$ is faithfulness.  You have
124:251,30[A  ]| to$9$ keep faith in$4$ all kinds of ways.  I have to$9$ keep faith with Monica, and the
124:251,31[A  ]| babies, and young Jane, and Lennie, and Tom, and dead Gran*Ellis:  and ~~
124:251,32[A  ]| and more ~~ yes, more."
124:251,33['  ]| He looked with clear, hard eyes at Mary, and at the young girl.  They were
124:251,34['  ]| both watching him, puzzled and perturbed.  The two old people in$4$ the
124:251,35['  ]| background were silent but hostile.
124:251,36[A  ]| "Do you know what I am faithful to$4$?"  
124:251,36['  ]| he said, still to$4$ the two young women,
124:251,37['  ]| but letting the elders hear.  
124:251,37[A  ]| "I am faithful to$4$ my own inside, when something
124:251,38[A  ]| stirs in$4$ me.  Gran*Ellis said that$3$ was God in$4$ me.  I know there is a God outside
124:251,39[A  ]| of me.  But he tells me to$9$ go my own way, and never be frightened of people
124:251,40[A  ]| and the world, only be frightened of him.  And if I felt I really wanted two
124:251,41[A  ]| wives, for$4$ example, I would have them and keep them both.  If I really
124:251,42[A  ]| wanted them, it would mean it was the God outside me bidding me, and it
124:251,43[A  ]| would be up$5$ to$4$ me to$9$ obey, world or no$2$ world."
124:251,44[F  ]| "You describe exactly the devil driving you," 
124:251,44['  ]| said Aunt*Matilda.
124:251,45[C  ]| "Does not he!"  
124:251,45['  ]| laughed Mr*George, who$6#1$ was oddly impressed.  
124:251,45[C  ]| "I only hope
124:252,01[C  ]| there is not a streak of madness in$4$ the family."
124:252,02[A  ]| "No$7$ there is not.  The world is all so$5#1$ tame, it is like$4$ an idiot to$4$ me, a
124:252,03[A  ]| dangerous idiot.  So$3$ that$3$ if I do want two wives ~~ or even three ~~ well, I \do\.
124:252,04[A  ]| Why listen to$4$ the Idiot."
124:252,05[C  ]| "Sounds like$3$ \you had\ gone cracked out there in$4$ that$6#2$ mining settlement," 
124:252,05['  ]| said
124:252,06['  ]| Mr*George.
124:252,07[A  ]| "If I said I wanted two fortunes instead of one," 
124:252,07['  ]| said Jack, with a malicious
124:252,08['  ]| smile, 
124:252,08[A  ]| "you would not think it cracked."
124:252,09[C  ]| "No$7$, only greedy," 
124:252,09['  ]| said Old George.
124:252,10[A  ]| "Not if I could use them.  And the same if I can really value two wives, and
124:252,11[A  ]| use them ~~ or even three" ~~ 
124:252,11['  ]| Jack glanced with a queer, bright grin at Hilda*Blessington ~~ 
124:252,12[A  ]| "Well, three wives would be three fortunes for$4$ my blood and
124:252,13[A  ]| spirit."
124:252,14[F  ]| "For$4$ your wickedness," 
124:252,14['  ]| said Aunt*Matilda.  
124:252,14[F  ]| "You are not allowed to$9$ say
124:252,15[F  ]| such things, even in$4$ joke."
124:252,16[A  ]| "Surely I may say them in$4$ dead earnest," 
124:252,16['  ]| persisted Jack mischievoulsy.  He
124:252,17['  ]| was aware of Mary and Hilda*Blessington listening, and he wanted to$9$ throw a
124:252,18['  ]| sort of lasso over them.
124:252,19[C  ]| "You will$1$ merely find yourself in$4$ gaol for$4$ bigamy," 
124:252,19['  ]| said Mr*George.
124:252,20[A  ]| "Oh," 
124:252,20['  ]| said Jack, 
124:252,20[A  ]| "I would not risk that$6#2$.  It would really be a Scotch marriage.
124:252,21[A  ]| Monica is my legal wife.  But what I pledged myself to$4$, I would stick to$4$, as I stick to$4$
124:252,22[A  ]| Monica.  I would stick to$4$ the others the same."
124:252,23[F  ]| "I will$1$ not hear any more of this nonsense," 
124:252,23['  ]| said Aunt*Matilda, rising.
124:252,24[C  ]| "Nonsense it is," 
124:252,24['  ]| said Old George testily.
124:252,25['  ]| Jack laughed.  Their being bothered amused him.  He was a little surprised
124:252,26['  ]| at himself breaking out in$4$ this way.  But the sight of Mary, and the sense of a
124:252,27['  ]| new, different responsibility, had struck it out of him.  His nature was ethical,
124:252,28['  ]| inclined to$9$ be emotionally mystical.  Now, however, the sense of foolish
124:252,29['  ]| complacency, and empty assurance in$4$ Aunt*Matilda, and in$4$ all the dead-certain
124:252,30['  ]| people of this world struck out of him a hard, sharp, non-emotional
124:252,31['  ]| opposition.  He felt hard and mischievous, confronting them.  
124:252,31@a   | Who$6#2$ were
124:252,32@a   | they, to$9$ judge and go on$5$ judging?  Who$6#2$ was Aunt*Matilda, to$9$ judge the dead
124:252,33@a   | fantastic soul of the fierce Gran?  The Ellises, the Ellises they all had some of
124:252,34@a   | Gran's fierce pagan uneasiness about them, they wee all a bit uncanny.  That$6#2$
124:252,35@a   | was why he loved them so$5#2$.
124:252,36@a   | And Mary!  Mary had another slow, heavy, mute mystery that$6#1$ waited and
124:252,37@a   | waited for*ever, like$4$ a lode stone.  And should he therefore abandon her,
124:252,38@a   | abandon her society and a sort of sterility?  Not he.  She was his to$9$ fertilise.
124:252,39@a   | His, and no$2$ other man's.  She knew it herself.  He knew it.  Then he would
124:252,40@a   | fight them all.  Even the good old George.  For$4$ the mystery that$6#1$ was his and
124:252,41@a   | Mary's.
124:252,42@a   | Let it be an end of popular goodness. Let there be another deeper, fiercer,
124:252,43@a   | untamed sort of goodness, like$3$ in$4$ the days of Abraham and Samson and
124:252,44@a   | Saul.  If Jack was to$9$ be good he would be good with these great old men, the
124:252,45@a   | heroic fathers, not with the saints.  The christian goodness had gone bad,
124:253,01@a   | decayed almost into poison.  It needed again the old heroic goodness of
124:253,02@a   | untamed men, with the wild great God who$6#1$ was for*ever too unknown to$9$ be a
124:253,03@a   | paragon.
124:253,04['  ]| Old George was a little afraid of Jack, uneasy about him.  He thought him
124:253,05['  ]| not normal.  The boy to$9$ be put in$4$ a category by$4$ himself, like$4$ a madman in$4$
124:253,06['  ]| a solitary cell.  And at the same time, the old man was delighted.  He was
124:253,07['  ]| delighted with the young man's physical presence.  Bewildered by$4$ the careless,
124:253,08['  ]| irrational things Jack would say, the old bachelor took off his spectacles
124:253,09['  ]| and rubbed his tired eyes again and again, as if he were going blind, and as if
124:253,10['  ]| he were losing his old dominant will$0$.
124:253,11['  ]| He had been a dominant character in$4$ the colony so$5#1$ long.  And now this
124:253,12['  ]| young fellow was laughing at him and stealing away his power of resistance.
124:253,13[A  ]| "Do not make eyes at me, sir," 
124:253,13['  ]| said Jack laughing.  
124:253,13[A  ]| "I know better than you
124:253,14[A  ]| what life means."
124:253,15[C  ]| "You do, do you?  Oh, you do?"  
124:253,15['  ]| said the old man.  And he laughed too.
124:253,16['  ]| Somehow it made him fell warm and easy.  
124:253,16[C  ]| "A fine crazy affair it would be if it
124:253,17[C  ]| were left to$4$ you."  
124:253,17['  ]| And he laughed loud at the absurdity.
124:253,00[U  ]| <ii>
124:253,18['  ]| Jack persuaded Mary to$9$ go with Mr*George and himself to$9$ look at Grant*Farm.
124:253,19['  ]| Mary and the old lawyer went in$4$ a buggy, Jack rode his own horse.
124:253,20['  ]| And it seemed to$4$ him to$9$ be good to$9$ be out again in$4$ the bush and forest
124:253,21['  ]| country.  It was rainy season, and the smell of the earth was delicious in$4$ his
124:253,22['  ]| nostrils.
124:253,23['  ]| He decided soon to$9$ leave the mine.  
124:253,23@a   | It was running thin.  He could leave it in$4$
124:253,24@a   | charge of Tom.  And then he must make some plans for$4$ himself.  Perhaps he
124:253,25@a   | would come and live on$4$ the Grant farm.  It was not too far from Perth, or
124:253,26@a   | from Wandoo, it was in$4$ the hills, the climate was balmy and almost English,
124:253,27@a   | after the gold fields, and there were trees.  He really rejoiced again, riding
124:253,28@a   | through strong, living trees.
124:253,29['  ]| Sometimes he would ride up$5$ beside Mary.  She sat very still at Mr*George's
124:253,30['  ]| side, talking to$4$ him in$4$ her quick, secret-seeming way.  Mary always looked as
124:253,31['  ]| if the things she was saying were secrets.
124:253,32['  ]| And her upper lip with its down of fine dark hair, would lift and show her
124:253,33['  ]| white teeth as she smiled with her mouth.  She only smiled with her mouth:
124:253,34['  ]| her eyes remained dark and glistening and unchanged.  But she talked a
124:253,35['  ]| great deal to$4$ Mr*George, almost like$4$ lovers, they were so$5#1$ confidential and so$5#1$
124:253,36['  ]| much in$4$ tune with one another.  It was as if Mary was happy with the old man's
124:253,37['  ]| love, that$6#1$ was fatherly, warm and sensuous, and wise and talkative, without
124:253,38['  ]| being at all dangerous.
124:253,39['  ]| When Jack rode up$5$ she seemed to$9$ snap the thread of her communication
124:253,40['  ]| with Mr*George, her ready volubility faded, and she was a little nervous.  Her
124:253,41['  ]| eyes, her dark eyes, were afraid of the young man.  Yet they would give him
124:254,01['  ]| odd, bright, corner-wise looks, almost inviting.  
124:254,01@a   | So$5#1$ different from the full,
124:254,02@a   | confident way she looked at Mr*George.  So$5#1$ different from Monica's queer
124:254,03@a   | yellow glare.  Mary seemed almost to$9$ peep at him, while her dark face, like$4$ an
124:254,04@a   | animal's muzzle with its slightly heavy mouth, remained quite expressionless.
124:254,05@a   |
124:254,06['  ]| It amused him.  He remembered how he had kissed her, and he wondered
124:254,07['  ]| if she remembered.  
124:254,07@a   | It was impossible, of course, to$9$ ask her.  And when she
124:254,08@a   | talked, it was always so$5#1$ seriously.  
124:254,08['  ]| That$6#2$ again amused Jack.  She was so$5#1$
124:254,09['  ]| voluble, especially with Mr*George, on$4$ all kinds of deep and difficult subjects.
124:254,10['  ]| She was quite excited just now about authoritarianism.  She was being
124:254,11['  ]| drawn by$4$ the Roman*Catholic*Church.
124:254,12[B  ]| "Oh," 
124:254,12['  ]| she was saying, 
124:254,12[B  ]| "I am an authoritarian.  Do not you think that$3$ the
124:254,13[B  ]| whole natural scheme is a scheme of authority, one rank having authority
124:254,14[B  ]| over another?"
124:254,15['  ]| Mr*George could not quite see it.  Yet it tickled his paternal male conceit of
124:254,16['  ]| authority, so$3$ he did not contradict her.  And Jack smiled to$4$ himself.  
124:254,16@a   | "She runs
124:254,17@a   | too much to$9$ talk," 
124:254,17['  ]| he thought.  
124:254,17@a   | "She runs too much in$4$ her head."  She seemed,
124:254,18@a   | indeed, to$9$ have forgotten quite how he kissed her.  It seemed that$3$ "questions
124:254,19@a   | of the day" quite absorbed her.
124:254,20['  ]| They came through the trees in$4$ the soft afternoon sunshine.  Jack remembered
124:254,21['  ]| the place well.  He remembered the Jamboree, and that$6#2$ girl who$6#1$ had
124:254,22['  ]| called him Dearie!  
124:254,22@a   | His first woman!  And insignificant enough:  but not bad.
124:254,23['  ]| He thought kindly of her.  
124:254,23@a   | She was a warm-hearted soul.  But she did not
124:254,24@a   | belong to$4$ his life at all.  
124:254,24['  ]| He remembered, too, how he had kicked Tom.  
124:254,24@a   | The
124:254,25@a   | faithful Tom!  Mary would never marry Tom, that$6#2$ was a certainty.  And it was
124:254,26@a   | equally certain Tom would never break his heart.
124:254,27['  ]| Jack was thinking to$4$ himself that$3$ 
124:254,27@a   | he would build a new house on$4$ this place,
124:254,28@a   | and ask Mary to$9$ live in$4$ the old house.  That$6#2$ was a brilliant idea.
124:254,29['  ]| But as he drove up$5$ he thought:  
124:254,29@a   | "The first money you spend on$4$ this place,
124:254,30@a   | my boy, will$1$ be on$4$ a brand new five-barred white gate."
124:254,31['  ]| Emma and Amos came out full of joy.  
124:254,31@a   | They, too, were a faithful old pair.
124:254,32['  ]| Jack handed Mary down.  She wore a dark blue dress and white silk gloves.  
124:254,32@a   | It
124:254,33@a   | was so$5#1$ like$4$ her to$9$ put on$5$ white silk gloves.  
124:254,33['  ]| But he liked the touch of them, as
124:254,34['  ]| he handed her down.  
124:254,34@a   | Her small, short, rather passive hands.
124:254,35['  ]| He and she walked round the place, and she was very much interested.  A
124:254,36['  ]| new place, a new farm, a new undertaking always excited her, as if it was she
124:254,37['  ]| who$6#1$ was making the new move.
124:254,38[A  ]| "Do not you think \that$6#2$\ will$1$ be a good place for$4$ the new house?"  
124:254,38['  ]| he was saying
124:254,39['  ]| to$4$ her.  
124:254,39[A  ]| "Down there, near that$6#2$ jolly bunch of old trees.  And the garden south
124:254,40[A  ]| of the trees.  If you dig in$4$ that$6#2$ flat you will$1$ find water, sure to$9$."
124:254,41['  ]| She inspected the place most carefully, and uttered her mature judgements.
124:254,42['  ]|
124:254,43[A  ]| "You will$1$ have to$9$ help think it out," 
124:254,43['  ]| he said.  
124:254,43[A  ]| "Monica is as different as an
124:254,44[A  ]| opossum.  Would you like$1$ to$9$ build yourself a house here, and tend to$4$ things?
124:254,45[A  ]| I will$1$ build you one if you like$1$.  Or give you the old one."
124:255,01['  ]| She looked at him with glowing eyes.
124:255,02[B  ]| "Would not that$6#2$ be splendid!"  
124:255,02['  ]| she said.  
124:255,02[B  ]| "Oh, would not that$6#2$ be splendid!  If I
124:255,03[B  ]| had a house and piece of land of my own!  Oh, yes!"
124:255,04[A  ]| "Well, I can easily give it you," 
124:255,04['  ]| he said.  
124:255,04[A  ]| "Just whatever you like$1$."
124:255,05[B  ]| "Is not that$6#2$ lovely!"  
124:255,05['  ]| she exclaimed.
124:255,06['  ]| But he could tell 
124:255,06@a   | she was thinking merely of the house and the bit of land,
124:255,07@a   | and herself a sort of Auntie to$4$ his and Monica's children.  She was fairly
124:255,08@a   | jumping into old-maiddom, both feet first.  Which$6#1$ was not what he intended.
124:255,09@a   | He did not want her as an Auntie for$4$ his children.
124:255,10['  ]| They went back to$4$ the house, and inspected there.  She liked it.  It was a
124:255,11['  ]| stone one-storey house with a great kitchen and three other rooms, all rather
124:255,12['  ]| low and homely.  The dead cousin had wanted his house to$9$ be exactly like$4$ the
124:255,13['  ]| houses of the other respectable farmers.  And he had not been prevented.
124:255,14['  ]| The place was a bit tumble-down, but clean.  Emma was baking scones, and
124:255,15['  ]| the sweet smell of scorched flour filled the house.  Mary lit the lamp in$4$ the
124:255,16['  ]| little parlour, and set it on$4$ the highly-polished but rather ricketty rose-wood
124:255,17['  ]| table, next the photograph album.  The family Bible had been removed to$4$
124:255,18['  ]| the bed-room.  But the old man had a photograph album, like$4$ any other
124:255,19['  ]| respectable householder.
124:255,20['  ]| Mary drew up$5$ one of the green-rep chairs, and opened the book.  Jack,
124:255,21['  ]| looking over her shoulder, started a little as he saw the first photograph:  an
124:255,22['  ]| elderly lady in$4$ lace cap and voluminous silken skirts was seated reading a
124:255,23['  ]| book, while  negligently leaning with one hand on$4$ her chair was a gentleman
124:255,24['  ]| with long white trousers and old fashioned coat and side whiskers, obviously
124:255,25['  ]| having his photograph taken.
124:255,26['  ]| This was the identical photograph which$6#1$ held place of honour in$4$ Jack's
124:255,27['  ]| mother's album; the photograph of her father and mother.
124:255,28[A  ]| "See!"  
124:255,28['  ]| said Jack.  
124:255,28[A  ]| "That$6#2$ is my grandfather and grandmother.  And he must
124:255,29[A  ]| have been the man who$6#1$ took Gran*Ellis' leg off.  Goodness!"
124:255,30['  ]| Mary gazed at them closely.
124:255,31[B  ]| "He looks a domineering man!"  
124:255,31['  ]| she said.  
124:255,31[B  ]| "I hope you are not like$4$ him."
124:255,32['  ]| Jack did not feel at all like$4$ him.  Mary turned over, and they beheld two
124:255,33['  ]| young ladies of the Victorian period.  Somebody had marked a cross, in$4$ ink,
124:255,34['  ]| over the head of one of the young ladies.  They must be his own aunts, both of
124:255,35['  ]| them many years older than his own mother, who$6#1$ was a late arrival.
124:255,36[B  ]| "Do you think that$6#2$ was his mother?"  
124:255,36['  ]| said Mary looking up$5$ at Jack, who$6#1$
124:255,37['  ]| stood at her side.  
124:255,37[B  ]| "She was beautiful."
124:255,38['  ]| Jack studied the photograph of the young woman.  She looked like$4$ nobody's
124:255,39['  ]| mother on$4$ earth, with her hair curiously rolled and curled, and a
124:255,40['  ]| great dress flouncing round her.  And her beauty was so$5#1$ photographic and
124:255,41['  ]| abstract, he merely gazed seeking for$4$ it.
124:255,42['  ]| But Mary, looking up$5$ at him, saw his silent face in$4$ the glow of the lamp, his
124:255,43['  ]| rather grim mouth closed ironically under his moustache, his open nostrils,
124:255,44['  ]| and the long, steady, self-contained look of his eyes under his lashes.  He was
124:255,45['  ]| not thinking of her at all, at the moment.  But his calm, rather distant,
124:256,01['  ]| unconsciously imperious face was something quite new and startling, and
124:256,02['  ]| rather frightening to$4$ her.  She became intensely aware of his thighs standing
124:256,03['  ]| close against her, and heart went faint.  She was afraid of him.
124:256,04['  ]| In$4$ agitation she was going to$9$ turn the leaf.  But he put his work-hardened
124:256,05['  ]| hand on$4$ the page, and turned back to$4$ the first photograph.
124:256,06[A  ]| "Look!"  
124:256,06['  ]| he said. 
124:256,06[A  ]| "\He\" ~~ 
124:256,06['  ]| pointing to$4$ his grandfather ~~ 
124:256,06[A  ]| "disowned her" ~~
124:256,07['  ]| turning to$4$ the aunt marked with a cross ~~ 
124:256,07[A  ]| "and she died an outcast, in$4$ misery,
124:256,08[A  ]| and her son burrowed here, half crazy.  Yet their two faces are rather alike.
124:256,09[A  ]| Gran*Ellis told me about them."
124:256,10['  ]| Mary studied them.
124:256,11[B  ]| "They are both a bit like$4$ yours," 
124:256,11['  ]| she said, 
124:256,11[B  ]| "their faces."
124:256,12[A  ]| "Mine!"  
124:256,12['  ]| he exclaimed.  
124:256,12[A  ]| "Oh no$7$!  I look like$4$ my father's family."
124:256,13['  ]| He could see no$2$ resemblance at all to$4$ himself in$4$ the handsome, hard-mouthed,
124:256,14['  ]| large man, with the clean face and the fringe of fair whiskers, and
124:256,15['  ]| the black cravat, and the overbearing look.
124:256,16[B  ]| "Your eyes are set in$4$ the same way," 
124:256,16['  ]| she said.  
124:256,16[B  ]| "And your brows are the
124:256,17[B  ]| same.  But your mouth is not so$5#1$ tight."
124:256,18[A  ]| "I do not like$1$ what I heard of him, anyhow," 
124:256,18['  ]| said Jack.  
124:256,18[A  ]| "A puritanical
124:256,19[A  ]| surgeon!  Turn over."
124:256,20['  ]| She turned over and gave a low cry.  There was a photograph of a young
124:256,21['  ]| elegant with drooping black moustachios, and mutton-chop side whiskers,
124:256,22['  ]| and large, languid, black eyes, leaning languidly and swinging a cane.  Over
124:256,23['  ]| the top was written, in$4$ a weird hand-writing:
124:256,24@w   | \The Honourable*George*Rath, blasted father of\
124:256,25['  ]| This skull and cross-bones was repeated on$4$ the other sides of the photograph.
124:256,26['  ]|
124:256,27[b  ]| "Oh!"  
124:256,27['  ]| said Mary, covering her face with her hands.
124:256,28['  ]| Jack's face was a study.  Mary had evidently recognised the photograph of
124:256,29['  ]| her father as a young man.  Yet Jack could not help smiling at the skull and
124:256,30['  ]| cross-bones, in$4$ connection with the Bulwer*Lytton young elegant, and the
124:256,31['  ]| man under the green umbrella.
124:256,32@a   | "My God!"  
124:256,32['  ]| he thought to$4$ himself.  
124:256,32@a   | "All that$6#1$ happens in$4$ a generation!  From
124:256,33@a   | that$6#2$ sniffy young dude to$4$ that$6#2$ fellow here who$6#1$ made this farm, and Mary
124:256,34@a   | with her face in$4$ her hands!"
124:256,35['  ]| He could not help smiling to$4$ himself.
124:256,36[A  ]| "Had you seen that$6#2$ photograph before?"  
124:256,36['  ]| he asked her.
124:256,37['  ]| She, unable to$9$ answer, kept her face in$4$ her hands.
124:256,38[A  ]| "Do not worry," 
124:256,38['  ]| he said.  
124:256,38[A  ]| "We are all more or less that$6#2$ way.  We are none of us
124:256,39[A  ]| perfect."
124:256,40['  ]| Still she did not answer.  Then he went on$5$, almost without thinking, as he
124:256,41['  ]| studied the rather fetching young gentleman with the long black hair and
124:256,42['  ]| bold black eyes, and the impudent, handsome, languid lips:
124:256,43[A  ]| "You are a bit like$4$ \him\, too.  You are a bit like$4$ him in$4$ the look in$4$ your eyes.  I
124:257,01[A  ]| bet he was not tall either.  I bet he was rather small."
124:257,02['  ]| Mary took her hands from her face and looked up$5$ fierce and angry.
124:257,03[B  ]| "You have no$2$ feeling," 
124:257,03['  ]| she said.
124:257,04[A  ]| "I have," 
124:257,04['  ]| he replied, smiling slightly.  
124:257,04[A  ]| "But life seems to$4$ me too rummy to$9$
124:257,05[A  ]| get piqued about it.  Think of him leaving a son like$4$ the fellow I saw under the
124:257,06[A  ]| umbrella!  Think of it!  Such a dandy!  And that$6#2$ his son!  And then having you
124:257,07[A  ]| for$4$ a daughter when he was getting quite on$5$ in$4$ years.  Do you remember
124:257,08[A  ]| him?"
124:257,09[B  ]| "How can you talk to$4$ me like$4$ that$6#2$?"  
124:257,09['  ]| she said.
124:257,10[A  ]| "But why?  It is life.  It is how it was.  Do you remember your father?"
124:257,11[B  ]| "Of course I do."
124:257,12[A  ]| "Did he dye his whiskers?"
124:257,13[B  ]| "I will$1$ not answer you."
124:257,14[A  ]| "Well, do not then.  But this man under the umbrella here ~~ you should
124:257,15[A  ]| have seen him ~~ was your half-brother and my cousin.  It makes us almost
124:257,16[A  ]| related."
124:257,17['  ]| Mary left the room.  In$4$ a few minutes Mr*George came in$5$.
124:257,18[C  ]| "What is wrong with Mary?"  
124:257,18['  ]| he asked, suspiciously, angrily.
124:257,19['  ]| Jack shrugged his shoulders, and pointed to$4$ the photograph.  The old man
124:257,20['  ]| bent over and stared at it:  and laughed.  Then he took the photograph out of
124:257,21['  ]| the book, and put it in$4$ his pocket.
124:257,22[C  ]| "Well, I am damned!"  
124:257,22['  ]| he said.  
124:257,22[C  ]| "Signs himself skull and cross-bones!  Think
124:257,23[C  ]| of that$6#2$, now!"
124:257,24[A  ]| "Was the Honourable*George a smallish built man?"  
124:257,24['  ]| asked Jack.
124:257,25[C  ]| "Eh?"  
124:257,25['  ]| The old man stared.  Then startled, he began to$9$ remember back.
124:257,26[C  ]| "Ay!"  
124:257,26['  ]| he said.  
124:257,26[C  ]| "He was.  He was smallish built, and the biggest little dude you
124:257,27[C  ]| ever set eyes on$4$.  Something about his backside always reminded me of a
124:257,28[C  ]| woman.  But all the women were wild about him.  Ay, even when he was over
124:257,29[C  ]| fifty, Mary's mother was wild in$4$ love with him.  And he married her because
124:257,30[C  ]| she was going to$9$ be a big heiress.  But she died a bit too soon, and he got
124:257,31[C  ]| nothing, nor Mary neither, because she was \his\ daughter."  
124:257,31['  ]| The old man
124:257,32['  ]| made an ironic grimace.  
124:257,32[C  ]| "He only died a few years back, in$4$ Sydney," 
124:257,32['  ]| he
124:257,33['  ]| added.  
124:257,33[C  ]| "But I say, that$6#2$ poor lass is fair cut up$5$ about it.  We had always kept it
124:257,34[C  ]| from her.  I feel bad about her."
124:257,35[A  ]| "She may as well get used to$4$ it," 
124:257,35['  ]| said Jack, disliking the old man's protective
124:257,36['  ]| sentimentalism.
124:257,37[C  ]| "Eh?  Get used to$4$ it!  Why?  How can she get used to$4$ it?"
124:257,38[A  ]| "She has got to$9$ live her own life some time."
124:257,39[C  ]| "How do you mean, live her own life?  She is never going to$9$ live \that$6#2$\ sort of a
124:257,40[C  ]| life, as long as I can see to$4$ it."  
124:257,40['  ]| He was quite huffed.
124:257,41[A  ]| "Are you going to$9$ leave her to$9$ be an old maid?"  
124:257,41['  ]| said Jack.
124:257,42[C  ]| "Eh?  Old maid?  No$7$!  She will$1$ marry when she wants to$9$."
124:257,43[A  ]| "You bet," 
124:257,43['  ]| said Jack with a slow smile.
124:257,44[C  ]| "She is a child yet," 
124:257,44['  ]| said Mr*George.
124:257,45[A  ]| "An elderly child ~~ poor Mary!"
124:258,01[C  ]| "Poor Mary!  Poor Mary!  Why poor Mary?  Why so$5#2$?"
124:258,02[A  ]| "Just poor Mary," 
124:258,02['  ]| said Jack slowly smiling.
124:258,03[C  ]| "I do not see it.  Why is she poor?  You are growing into a real young devil, you
124:258,04[C  ]| are."  
124:258,04['  ]| And the old man glanced into the young man's eyes in$4$ mistrust, and
124:258,05['  ]| fear, and also in$4$ admiration.
124:258,06['  ]| They went into the kitchen, the late tea was ready.  It was evident that$3$ Mary
124:258,07['  ]| was waiting for$4$ them to$9$ come in$5$.  She had recovered her composure, but was
124:258,08['  ]| more serious than usual.  Jack laughed at her, and teased her.
124:258,09[A  ]| "Ah, Mary," 
124:258,09['  ]| he said, 
124:258,09[A  ]| "do you still believe in$4$ the Age of Innocence?"
124:258,10[B  ]| "I still believe in$4$ good feeling," 
124:258,10['  ]| she retorted.
124:258,11[A  ]| "So$5#2$ do I.  And when good feeling's comical, I believe in$4$ laughing at it," 
124:258,11['  ]| he
124:258,12['  ]| replied.
124:258,13[B  ]| "There is something wrong with you," 
124:258,13['  ]| she replied.
124:258,14[A  ]| "Quoth Aunt*Matilda," 
124:258,14['  ]| he echoed.
124:258,15[B  ]| "Aunt*Matilda is very often right," 
124:258,15['  ]| she said.
124:258,16[A  ]| "Never, in$4$ my opinion.  Aunt*Matilda is a wrong number.  She is one of life's
124:258,17[A  ]| false statements."
124:258,18[C  ]| "Hark at him!"  
124:258,18['  ]| laughed Old George.
124:258,19['  ]| As soon as the meal was over, he rose, saying 
124:258,19@a   | he would see to$4$ his horse.
124:258,20['  ]| Mary looked up$5$ at him as he put his hat on$4$ his head and took the lantern.  She
124:258,21['  ]| did not want him to$9$ go.
124:258,22[B  ]| "How long will$1$ you be?"  
124:258,22['  ]| she asked.
124:258,23[A  ]| "Why, not long," 
124:258,23['  ]| he answered, with a slight smile.
124:258,24['  ]| Nevertheless he was glad to$9$ be out and with his horse.  
124:258,24@a   | Somehow those
124:258,25@a   | others made a false atmosphere, Mary and Old George.  
124:258,25['  ]| They made Jack's
124:258,26['  ]| soul feel sarcastic.  He lingered about the stable in$4$ the dim light of the
124:258,27['  ]| lantern, preparing himself a bed.  There were only two bedrooms in$4$ the
124:258,28['  ]| house.  The old couple would sleep on$4$ the kitchen floor, or on$4$ the sofa.  He
124:258,29['  ]| preferred to$9$ sleep in$4$ the stable.  He had grown so$3$ that$3$ he did not like$1$ to$9$ sleep
124:258,30['  ]| inside their fixed shut-in houses.  He did not mind a mere hut, like$4$ his at the
124:258,31['  ]| camp.  But a shut-in house with fixed furniture made him feel sick.  He was
124:258,32['  ]| sick of the whole pretence of it.
124:258,33['  ]| And he knew 
124:258,33@a   | he would never come to$9$ live on$4$ this farm.  He did not want to$9$.
124:258,34@a   | He did not like$1$ the atmosphere of the place.  He felt stifled.  He wanted to$9$ go
124:258,35@a   | North, or West, or North-West once more.
124:258,36['  ]| Suddenly he heard footsteps:  Mary picking her way across.
124:258,37[B  ]| "Is your horse all right?"  
124:258,37['  ]| she asked.  
124:258,37[B  ]| "I was afraid something was wrong
124:258,38[B  ]| with him.   And he is so$5#1$ beautiful.  Or is it a mare?"
124:258,39[A  ]| "No$7$," 
124:258,39['  ]| he said.  
124:258,39[A  ]| "It is a horse.  I do not care for$4$ a mare, for$4$ riding."
124:258,40[B  ]| "Why?"
124:258,41[A  ]| "She has so$5#1$ many whims of her own, and wants so$5#1$ much attention paid to$4$
124:258,42[A  ]| her.  And then ten to$4$ one you can not trust her.  I prefer a horse to$9$ ride."
124:258,43['  ]| She saw the rugs spread on$4$ the straw.
124:258,44[B  ]| "Who$6#2$ is going to$9$ sleep here?"  
124:258,44['  ]| she asked.
124:258,45[A  ]| "I."
124:259,01[B  ]| "Why ~~ but ~~ "
124:259,02['  ]| He cut short her expostulations.
124:259,03[B  ]| "Oh, but do let me bring you sheets.  Do let me make you a proper bed!"
124:259,04['  ]| she cried.
124:259,05['  ]| But he only laughed at her.
124:259,06[A  ]| "What is a \proper\ bed?"  
124:259,06['  ]| he said.  
124:259,06[A  ]| "Is this an improper one, then?"
124:259,07[B  ]| "It is not a comfortable one," 
124:259,07['  ]| she said with dignity.
124:259,08[A  ]| "It is for$4$ me.  I was not going to$9$ ask you to$9$ sleep on$4$ it, too, was I now?"
124:259,09['  ]| She went out and stood looking at the Southern*Cross.
124:259,10[B  ]| "Were not you coming indoors again?"  
124:259,10['  ]| she asked.
124:259,11[A  ]| "Do not you think it is nicer out here?  Feels a bit tight in$4$ there.  I say, Mary, I
124:259,12[A  ]| do not think I shall ever come and live on$4$ this place."
124:259,13[B  ]| "Why not?"
124:259,14[A  ]| "I do not like$1$ it."
124:259,15[B  ]| "Why not?"
124:259,16[A  ]| "It feels a bit heavy ~~ and a bit tight to$4$ me."
124:259,17[B  ]| "What shall you do then?"
124:259,18[A  ]| "Oh, I do not know.  I will$1$ decide when I am back at the camp.  But I say,
124:259,19[A  ]| would not \you\ like$1$ this place?  I will$1$ give it you if you would.  You are next of kin
124:259,20[A  ]| \really\.  If you will$1$ have it, I will$1$ give it you."
124:259,21['  ]| Mary was silent for$4$ some time.
124:259,22[B  ]| "And what do you think you will$1$ do if you do not live here?"  
124:259,22['  ]| she asked.  
124:259,22[B  ]| "Will$1$
124:259,23[B  ]| you stay always on$4$ the gold*fields?"
124:259,24[A  ]| "Oh, dear no$7$!  I shall probably go up$5$ to$4$ the Never-Never, and raise cattle.
124:259,25[A  ]| Where there are not so$5#1$ many people, and photo-albums, and good Old Georges
124:259,26[A  ]| and Aunt*Matildas and all that$6#2$."
124:259,27[B  ]| "You will$1$ be \yourself\, wherever you are."
124:259,28[A  ]| "Thank God for$4$ that$6#2$, but it is not quite true.  I find I am less myself down
124:259,29[A  ]| here, with all you people."
124:259,30['  ]| Again she was silent for$4$ a time.
124:259,31[B  ]| "Why?"  
124:259,31['  ]| she asked.
124:259,32[A  ]| "Oh, that$6#2$ is how it makes me feel, that$6#2$ is all."
124:259,33[B  ]| "Are you more yourself on$4$ the gold*fields?"  
124:259,33['  ]| she asked rather contemptuously.
124:259,34['  ]|
124:259,35[A  ]| "Oh, yes."
124:259,36[B  ]| "When you are getting money, you mean?"
124:259,37[A  ]| "No$7$.  But I have got so$3$ that$3$ Aunt*Matilda-ism and Old George-ism do not
124:259,38[A  ]| agree with me.  They make me feel sarcastic!  They make me feel out of sorts
124:259,39[A  ]| all over."
124:259,40[B  ]| "And I suppose you mean Mary-ism too," 
124:259,40['  ]| she said acidly.
124:259,41[A  ]| "Yes, a certain sort of Mary-ism does it to$4$ me as well.  But there is a Mary
124:259,42[A  ]| without the ism that$6#1$ I said I would come back for$4$.  Would you like$1$ this place?"
124:259,43[B  ]| "Why?"
124:259,44[A  ]| "To$9$ cultivate your Mary-ism.  Or would you like$1$ to$9$ come to$4$ the North-West?"
124:259,45[A  ]|
124:260,01[B  ]| "But why do you trouble about me?"
124:260,02[A  ]| "I have come back for$4$ you.  I said I would come back for$4$ you.  I am here."
124:260,03['  ]| There was a moment of tense silence.
124:260,04[B  ]| "You have married Monica now," 
124:260,04['  ]| said Mary, in$4$ a low voice.
124:260,05[A  ]| "Of course I have.  But the leopard does not change his spots when he goes
124:260,06[A  ]| into a cave with a she-leopard.  I said I would come back for$4$ you as well, and I have
124:260,07[A  ]| come."
124:260,08['  ]| A dead silence.
124:260,09[B  ]| "But what about Monica?"  
124:260,09['  ]| Mary asked, with a little curl of irony.
124:260,10[A  ]| "Monica?"  
124:260,10['  ]| he said.  
124:260,10[A  ]| "Yes, she is my wife, I tell you.  But she is not only my
124:260,11[A  ]| wife.  Why should she be?  She will$1$ lose nothing."
124:260,12[B  ]| "Did she say so$5#2$?  Did you tell her?"  
124:260,12['  ]| Mary asked insidiously.
124:260,13['  ]| Slowly an anger suffused thick in$4$ his chest, and then seemed to$9$ break in$4$ a
124:260,14['  ]| kind of explosion.  And the curious tension of his desire for$4$ Mary snapped
124:260,15['  ]| with the explosion of his anger.
124:260,16[A  ]| "No$7$," 
124:260,16['  ]| he said.  
124:260,16[A  ]| "I did not tell her.  I had to$9$ ask \you\ first.  Monica is thick with
124:260,17[A  ]| her babies now.  She will$1$ not care where I am.  That$6#2$ is how women are.  They are
124:260,18[A  ]| more \creatures\ than men are.  They are not separated out of the earth.  They are
124:260,19[A  ]| like$4$ black ore.  The metal is in$4$ them, but it is still part of the earth.  They are all
124:260,20[A  ]| part of the matrix, women are, with their children clinging to$4$ them."
124:260,21[B  ]| "And men are pure gold?"  
124:260,21['  ]| said Mary, sarcastically.
124:260,22[A  ]| "Yes, in$4$ streaks.  Men are the pure metal, in$4$ streaks.  Women never are.  For$4$
124:260,23[A  ]| my part, I do not want them to$9$ be.  They \are\ the mother-rock.  They \are\ the
124:260,24[A  ]| matrix.  Leave them at that$6#2$.  That$6#2$ is why I want more than one wife."
124:260,25[B  ]| "But why?"  
124:260,25['  ]| she asked.
124:260,26['  ]| He realised that$3$, in$4$ his clumsy fashion, he had taken the wrong tack.  The
124:260,27['  ]| one thing he should never have done, he had begun to$9$ do:  explain and
124:260,28['  ]| argue.  Truly, Mary put up$5$ a permanent mental resistance.  But he should
124:260,29['  ]| have attacked elsewhere.  He should have made love to$4$ her.  Yet, since she
124:260,30['  ]| had so$5#1$ much mental resistance, he had to$9$ make his position clear.  Now he
124:260,31['  ]| realised he was angry and tangled.
124:260,32[A  ]| "Shall we go in$5$?"  
124:260,32['  ]| he said abruptly.
124:260,33['  ]| And she returned with him in$4$ silence back to$4$ the house.  Mr*George was in$4$
124:260,34['  ]| the parlour, looking over some papers.  Jack and Mary went in$5$ to$4$ him.
124:260,35[A  ]| "I have been thinking, sir," 
124:260,35['  ]| said Jack, 
124:260,35[A  ]| "that$3$ I shall never come to$9$ live on$4$
124:260,36[A  ]| this place.  I want to$9$ go up$5$ to$4$ the North-West, and raise cattle.  That$6#2$ will$1$ suit me
124:260,37[A  ]| better than wheat and dairy.  So$3$ I offer this place to$4$ Mary.  She can do as she
124:260,38[A  ]| likes with it.  Really, I feel the property is naturally hers."
124:260,39['  ]| Now old George had secretly cherished this thought for$4$ many years, and it
124:260,40['  ]| had riled him a little when Jack calmly stepped into the inheritance.
124:260,41[C  ]| "Oh, you can not be giving away a property like$4$ this," 
124:260,41['  ]| he said.
124:260,42[A  ]| "Why not?  I have all the money I want.  I give the place to$4$ Mary.  I would much
124:260,43[A  ]| rather give it to$4$ her than sell it.  But if she will$1$ not have it, I will$1$ ask you to$9$ sell it for$4$
124:260,44[A  ]| me."
124:260,45[C  ]| "Why!  Why!"  
124:260,45['  ]| said old George fussily, stirring quite delighted in$4$ his chair,
124:261,01['  ]| and looking from one to$4$ the other of the young people, unable to$9$ understand
124:261,02['  ]| their faces.  Mary looked sulky and unhappy, Jack looked sarcastic.
124:261,03[B  ]| "I will$1$ not take it, anyhow," 
124:261,03['  ]| exclaimed Mary.
124:261,04[C  ]| "Eh?  Why not, if the young millionaire wants to$9$ give it you?  If he wants to$9$
124:261,05[C  ]| throw it away ~~ " 
124:261,05['  ]| said the old man ironically.
124:261,06[B  ]| "I will$1$ not!  I will$1$ not take it!"  
124:261,06['  ]| she repeated abruptly.
124:261,07[C  ]| "Why ~~ what is amiss?"
124:261,08[B  ]| "Nothing!  I will$1$ not take it."
124:261,09[C  ]| "Got a proud stomach from your aristocratic ancestors, have you?"  
124:261,09['  ]| said
124:261,10['  ]| old George.  
124:261,10[C  ]| "Well, you need not have, the place is your father's son's place,
124:261,11[C  ]| you need not be altogether so$5#1$ squeamish."
124:261,12[B  ]| "I would not take it if I was starving," 
124:261,12['  ]| she asserted.
124:261,13[C  ]| "You are in$4$ no$2$ danger of starving, so$3$ do not talk," 
124:261,13['  ]| said the old man testily.
124:261,14[C  ]| "It is a nice little place, I tell you.  I should enjoy coming out here and
124:261,15[C  ]| spending a few months of the year myself.  Should like$4$ nothing better."
124:261,16[B  ]| "But I will$1$ not take it," 
124:261,16['  ]| said Mary.
124:261,17['  ]| Jack went grinning off to$4$ his stable.  He was angry, but it was the kind of
124:261,18@a   | anger that$6#1$ made him feel sarcastic.
124:261,19@a   | Damn her!  She was in$4$ love with him.  She had a passion for$4$ him.  What did
124:261,20@a   | she want?  Did she want him to$9$ make love to$4$ her, and run away with her, and
124:261,21@a   | abandon Monica and Jane?  And the babies?  No$2$ doubt she would have
124:261,22@a   | listened close enough to$4$ this proposition.  But he was never going to$9$ put it to$4$
124:261,23@a   | her.  He had married Monica, and he would stick to$4$ her.  She was his first and
124:261,24@a   | chief wife, and whatever happened, she would remain it.  He detested and
124:261,25@a   | despised divorce:  a shifty business.  But it was nonsense to$9$ pretend that$3$
124:261,26@a   | Monica was the beginning and end of his marriage with woman.  Woman was
124:261,27@a   | the matrix, the red earth, and he wanted his roots in$4$ this earth.  More than
124:261,28@a   | one root, to$9$ keep him steady and complete.  Mary instinctively belonged to$4$
124:261,29@a   | him.  Then why not completely?
124:261,30@a   | Why not?  And why not make a marriage with her, too?  The legal marriage
124:261,31@a   | with Monica, his own marriage with Mary.  It was a natural thing.  The old
124:261,32@a   | heroes, the old fathers of red earth, like$4$ Abraham  in$4$ the Bible, like$4$ David
124:261,33@a   | even, they took the wives they needed for$4$ their own completeness, without
124:261,34@a   | this nasty chop-and-change business of divorce.
124:261,35@a   | He would have all the world against him.  But what would it matter, if he
124:261,36@a   | were away in$4$ the Never-Never, where the world just faded out?  Monica
124:261,37@a   | could have the chief house.  But Mary should have another house, with
124:261,38@a   | garden and animals if she wanted them.  And she should have her own
124:261,39@a   | children:  his children.  Why should she be only Auntie to$4$ Monica's children?
124:261,40@a   | Mary, with her black glistening eyes and her short, dark, secret body, she was
124:261,41@a   | asking for$4$ children.  She was asking him for$4$ his children, really.  He knew it,
124:261,42@a   | and secretly she knew it; and Aunt*Matilda, and even Old George knew it,
124:261,43@a   | somewhere in$4$ themselves.  And Old George was funny.  He would not really
124:261,44@a   | have minded an affair between Jack and Mary, provided it had been kept
124:261,45@a   | dark.  He would even have helped them to$4$ it, so$5#1$ long as they would let
124:262,01@a   | nothing be known.
124:262,02['  ]| But Jack was too wilful and headstrong, and too proud, for$4$ an intrigue.  
124:262,02@a   | An
124:262,03@a   | intrigue meant a certain cringing before society, and this he would never do.
124:262,04@a   | If he took Mary, it was because he felt she instinctively belonged to$4$ him.
124:262,05@a   | Because, in$4$ spite of the show she kept up$5$, her womb was asking for$4$ him.  And
124:262,06@a   | he wanted her for$4$ himself.  He wanted to$9$ have her and to$9$ answer her.  And he
124:262,07@a   | would be judged by$4$ nobody.
124:262,08['  ]| He rose quickly, returning to$4$ the house.  Mary and the old man were in$4$ the
124:262,09['  ]| kitchen, getting their candles to$9$ go to$4$ bed.
124:262,10[A  ]| "Mary," 
124:262,10['  ]| said Jack, 
124:262,10[A  ]| "come out and listen to$4$ the nightbird."
124:262,11['  ]| She started slightly, glanced at him, then at Mr*George.
124:262,12[C  ]| "Go with him a minute, if you want to$9$." 
124:262,12['  ]| said the old man.
124:262,13['  ]| Rather unwillingly she went out of the door with Jack.  They crossed the
124:262,14['  ]| yard in$4$ silence, towards the stable.  She hesitated outside, in$4$ the thin moonlight.
124:262,15['  ]|
124:262,16[A  ]| "Come and sleep in$4$ the stable with me," 
124:262,16['  ]| he said, his heart beating thick,
124:262,17['  ]| and his voice strange and low.
124:262,18[B  ]| "Oh, Jack!"  
124:262,18['  ]| she cried, with a funny little lament; 
124:262,18[B  ]| "you are married to$4$
124:262,19[B  ]| Monica!  I can not!  You are Monica's!"
124:262,20[A  ]| "Am I?"  
124:262,20['  ]| he said.  
124:262,20[A  ]| "Monica is mine, if you like$1$, but why am I all her's?  She is
124:262,21[A  ]| certainly not all mine.  She belongs chiefly to$4$ her babies just now.  Why
124:262,22[A  ]| should not she?  She is their red earth.  But I am not going to$9$ shut my eyes.
124:262,23[A  ]| Neither am I going to$9$ play the mild Saint*Joseph.  I do not feel that$6#2$ way.  At the
124:262,24[A  ]| present moment I am not Monica's any more than she is mine.  So$3$ what is the
124:262,25[A  ]| good of your telling me?  I shall love her again, when she is free.  Everything
124:262,26[A  ]| in$4$ season, even wives.  Now I love you again, after having never thought of it
124:262,27[A  ]| for$4$ a long while.  But it was always slumbering inside me, just as Monica is
124:262,28[A  ]| asleep inside me this minute.  The sun goes, and the moon comes.  A man is not
124:262,29[A  ]| made up$5$ of only one thread.  What is the good of keeping your virginity!  It is
124:262,30[A  ]| really mine.  Come and sleep with me in$4$ the stable, and then afterwards come
124:262,31[A  ]| and live in$4$ the North-West, in$4$ one of my houses, and have your children
124:262,32[A  ]| there, and animals or whatever you want."
124:262,33[B  ]| "Oh, God!"  
124:262,33['  ]| cried Mary.  
124:262,33[B  ]| "You must really be mad.  You do not love me, you
124:262,34[B  ]| can not, you must love Monica.  Oh, God!  why do you torture me?"
124:262,35[A  ]| "I do not torture you.  Come and sleep in$4$ the stable with me.  I love you, too."
124:262,36[B  ]| "But you love Monica."
124:262,37[A  ]| "I shall love Monica again, another time.  Now, I love you.  I do not change.
124:262,38[A  ]| But sometimes it is one, then the other.  Why not?"
124:262,39[B  ]| "It can not be!  It can not be!"  
124:262,39['  ]| cried Mary.
124:262,40[A  ]| "Why not?  Come into the stable with me, with me and the horses."
124:262,41[B  ]| "Oh, do not torture me!  I hate my animal nature.  You want to$9$ make a slave
124:262,42[B  ]| of me," 
124:262,42['  ]| she cried blindly.
124:262,43['  ]| This struck him silent.  
124:262,43@a   | Hate her animal nature?  What did she mean?  Did
124:262,44@a   | she mean the passion she had for$4$ him?  And make a slave of her?  How?
124:262,45[A  ]| "How make a slave of you?"  
124:262,45['  ]| he asked.  
124:262,45[A  ]| "What are you now?  You are a sad
124:263,01[A  ]| thing as you are.  I do not want to$9$ leave you as you are.  You are a slave now, to$4$
124:263,02[A  ]| Aunt*Matilda and all the conventions.  Come and sleep with me in$4$ the
124:263,03[A  ]| stable?"
124:263,04[B  ]| "Oh, you are cruel to$4$ me!  You are wicked!  I can not.  You know I can not."
124:263,05[A  ]| "Why can not you?  You can.  I am not wicked.  To$4$ me it does not matter what
124:263,06[A  ]| the world is.  You \really\ want it.  The middle of you \really\ wants me, and
124:263,07[A  ]| nothing but me.  It is only the outside of you that$6#1$ is afraid.  There is nothing to$9$
124:263,08[A  ]| be afraid of, now we have enough money.  You will$1$ come with me to$4$ the
124:263,09[A  ]| North-West, and be my other wife, and have my children, and I shall depend
124:263,10[A  ]| on$4$ you as a man has to$9$ depend on$4$ a woman."
124:263,11[B  ]| "How selfish you are!  You are as selfish as my father, who$6#1$ betrayed your
124:263,12[B  ]| mother's sister and left this skull-and-cross-bones son," 
124:263,12['  ]| she cried.  
124:263,12[B  ]| "No$7$, it is
124:263,13[B  ]| dreadful, it is horrible.  In$4$ this horrible place, too, proposing such a thing to$4$
124:263,14[B  ]| me.  It shows you have no$2$ feelings."
124:263,15[A  ]| "I do not care about feelings.  They are what people have because they feel
124:263,16[A  ]| they ought to$9$ have them.  But I know my own real feeling.  I do not care about
124:263,17[A  ]| your feelings."
124:263,18[B  ]| "I know you do not," 
124:263,18['  ]| she said.  
124:263,18[B  ]| "Good-night!"  
124:263,18['  ]| She turned abruptly and
124:263,19['  ]| hurried away in$4$ the moonlight, escaping to$4$ the house.
124:263,20['  ]| Jack watched the empty night for$4$ some minutes.  Then he turned away
124:263,21['  ]| into the stable.
124:263,22[A  ]| "That$6#2$ is that$6#2$!"  
124:263,22['  ]| he said, seeing his little plans come to$4$ nought.
124:263,23['  ]| He went into the stable and sat down on$4$ his bed, near the horses.  
124:263,23@a   | How
124:263,24@a   | good it was to$9$ be with the horses!  How good animals were, with no$2$ "feelings"
124:263,25@a   | and no$2$ ideas.  They just straight felt what they felt, without lies and complications.
124:263,26@a   |
124:263,27@a   | Well, so$5#2$ be it!  He was surprised.  He had not expected Mary to$9$ funk the
124:263,28@a   | issue, since the issue was clear.  What else was the right thing to$9$ do?  Why,
124:263,29@a   | nothing else!
124:263,30@a   | It seemed to$4$ him so$5#1$ obvious.  Mary obviously wanted him, even more,
124:263,31@a   | perhaps, than he wanted her.  Because she was only a part thing, by$4$ herself.
124:263,32@a   | All women were only parts of some whole, when they were by$4$ themselves:  let
124:263,33@a   | them be as clever as they might.  They were creatures of earth, and fragments,
124:263,34@a   | all of them.  All women were only fragments; fragments of matrix at
124:263,35@a   | that$6#2$.
124:263,36@a   | No$7$.  He was not wrong, he was right.  If the others did not agree, they did not,
124:263,37@a   | that$6#2$ was all.  He still was right.  He still hated the nauseous one-couple-in-one-cottage
124:263,38@a   | domesticity.  He hated domesticity altogether.  He loathed the
124:263,39@a   | thought of being shut up$5$ with one woman and a bunch of kids in$4$ a house.
124:263,40@a   | Several women, several houses, several bunches of kids:  it would then be like$4$
124:263,41@a   | a perpetual travelling, a camp, not a home.  He hated homes.  He wanted a
124:263,42@a   | camp.
124:263,43@a   | He wanted to$9$ pitch his camp in$4$ the wilderness with the faithful Tom, and
124:263,44@a   | Lennie, and his own wives.  Wives, not wife.  And the horses, and the come-and-go,
124:263,45@a   | and the elements of wildness.  Not to$9$ be tamed.  His men, men by$4$
124:264,01@a   | themselves.  And his women never to$9$ be tamed.  And the wilderness still
124:264,02@a   | there.  He wanted to$9$ go like$4$ Abraham under the wild sky, speaking to$4$ a fierce,
124:264,03@a   | wild Lord, and having angels stand in$4$ his doorway.
124:264,04@a   | Why not?  Even if the whole word said No$7$!  Even then, why not?
124:264,05@a   | As for$4$ being ridiculous, what was more ridiculous than men wheeling
124:264,06@a   | perambulators and living among a mass of furniture in$4$ a tight house?
124:264,07@a   | Anyhow, it was no$2$ good talking to$4$ Mary at the moment.  She was not a piece
124:264,08@a   | of the matrix or red earth.  She was a piece of the upholstered world.  Damn
124:264,09@a   | the upholstered world!  He would go back to$4$ the gold*fields, to$4$ Tom and
124:264,10@a   | Lennie and Monica, back to$4$ camp, back to$4$ camp, away from the upholstery.
124:264,11@a   | No$7$, he \was not\ a man who$6#1$ had finished when he had got one wife.
124:264,12@a   | And that$6#2$ damned Mary, by$4$ the mystery of fate, was linked to$4$ him from her
124:264,13@a   | womb.
124:264,14@a   | And damn her, she preferred to$9$ break that$6#2$ link, and turn into an upholstered
124:264,15@a   | old maid.  Of all the hells!
124:264,16@a   | Then let her marry Blessington and a houseful of furniture.  Or else marry
124:264,17@a   | Old George, and gas to$4$ him while he could hear.  She loved gassing.  Talk,
124:264,18@a   | talk, talk, Jack hated a talking woman.  But Mary would rather sit gassing with
124:264,19@a   | Old George than sleep with him, Jack, in$4$ the stable along with the horses.  Of
124:264,20@a   | all the surprising hells!
124:264,21@a   | At least Tom was not like$4$ that$6#2$.  And Monica was not.  But Monica was wrapped
124:264,22@a   | up$5$ in$4$ her babies, she seemed to$9$ swim in$4$ a sea of babies, and Jack had to$9$
124:264,23@a   | let her be.  And she, too, had a hankering after furniture.  He knew she would be
124:264,24@a   | after it, if he did not prevent her.
124:264,25@a   | Well, it was no$2$ good preventing people, even from stuffed plush furniture
124:264,26@a   | and knick-knacks.  But he would keep the brake on$5$.  He would do that$6#2$.
125:265,01['  ]| But as he rode back to$4$ Perth, with Mary rather stiff and silent, and Mr*George
125:265,02['  ]| absorbed in$4$ his own thoughts; and as they greeted people on$4$
125:265,03['  ]| the road, and passed by$4$ settlements, and as they saw far off the pale blue sea
125:265,04['  ]| with a speck of a steamer smoking, and the dim fume of Perth down at
125:265,05['  ]| sea-level:  he thought to$4$ himself:  
125:265,05@a   | "I had better be careful.  I had better be
125:265,06@a   | wary.  The world is cold and cautious, it has cold blood, like$4$ ants and
125:265,07@a   | centipedes.  They, all the men in$4$ the world, they hardly want one wife, let
125:265,08@a   | alone two.  And they would take any excuse to$9$ destroy me.  They would like$1$ to$9$
125:265,09@a   | destroy me, because I am not cold and like$4$ an ant, as they are.  Mary would
125:265,10@a   | like$1$ me to$9$ be killed.  Look at her face.  She would feel a real deep satisfaction if
125:265,11@a   | my horse threw me against those stones and smashed my skull in$5$.  She would
125:265,12@a   | feel vindicated.  And Old George would think it served me right.  And
125:265,13@a   | practically everybody would be glad.  Not Tom and Len.  But practically
125:265,14@a   | everybody else.  Even Monica, though she is my wife.  Even she feels a
125:265,15@a   | judgment ought to$9$ descend upon$4$ me.  Because I am not what she wants me to$9$
125:265,16@a   | be.  Because I am not as she thinks I ought to$9$ be.  And because she can not get
125:265,17@a   | beyond me.  Because something inside her knows she can not get past me.
125:265,18@a   | Therefore, in$4$ one corner of her she hates me, like$4$ a scorpion lurking.  If I am
125:265,19@a   | unaware, and put my hand unthinking in$4$ that$6#2$ corner, she will$1$ sting me and
125:265,20@a   | hope to$9$ kill me.  How curious it is!  And since I have found the gold it is more
125:265,21@a   | emphatic than before.  As if they grudged me something.  As if they grudged
125:265,22@a   | me my very being.  Because I am not one of them, and just like$4$ they are, they
125:265,23@a   | would like$1$ me destroyed.  It has always been so$5#2$ ever since I was born.  My
125:265,24@a   | aunts, my own father.  And my mother did not want me destroyed as they
125:265,25@a   | secretly did, but even my mother would not have tried to$9$ prevent them from
125:265,26@a   | destroying me.  Even when they like$1$ me, as Old George does, they grudge
125:265,27@a   | their own liking, they take it back whenever they can.  He defended me over
125:265,28@a   | Easu because he thought I was defending Monica, and going the good way of
125:265,29@a   | the world.  Now he scents that$3$ I am going my own way, he feels as if I were a
125:265,30@a   | sort of snake that$6#1$ should be put out of existence.  That$6#2$ is how Mary feels, too:
125:265,31@a   | and Mary loves me, if loving counts for$4$ anything.  Tom and Len do not wish
125:265,32@a   | me destroyed.  But if they saw the world destroying me they would acquiesce.
125:265,33@a   | Their fondness for$4$ me is only passive, not active.  I believe, if I ransacked
125:265,34@a   | earth and heaven, there is nobody would fight for$4$ me as I am, not a soul,
125:265,35@a   | except that$6#2$ little Jane of Easu's.  The others would fight like$4$ cats and dogs for$4$
125:265,36@a   | me \as they want me to$9$ be\.  But for$4$ me as I am, they think I ought to$9$ be destroyed.
125:265,37@a   | And I, I am a fool, talking to$4$ them, giving myself away to$4$ them, as to$4$ Mary.
125:266,01@a   | Why, Mary ought to$9$ go down on$4$ her knees before the honour, if I want to$9$
125:266,02@a   | take her.  Instead of which$6#1$ she puffs herself up$5$, and spits venom in$4$ my face
125:266,03@a   | like$4$ a cobra.
125:266,04@a   | Very well, very well.  Soon I can go out of her sight again, for$3$ I loathe the
125:266,05@a   | sight of her.  I can ride down Hay*Street without yielding a hair's breadth to$4$
125:266,06@a   | any man or woman on$4$ earth.  And I can ride out of Perth without leaving a
125:266,07@a   | vestige of myself behind, for$4$ them to$9$ work mischief on$4$.
125:266,08@a   | God, but it is a queer thing, to$9$ know that$3$ they all want to$9$ destroy me as I am,
125:266,09@a   | even out here in$4$ this far-off colony.  I thought it was only my aunts, and my
125:266,10@a   | father because of his social position.  But it is everybody.  Even, passively, my
125:266,11@a   | mother, and Tom and Len.  Because, inside my soul I do not conform:  can not
125:266,12@a   | conform.  They would all like$1$ to$9$ kill the non-conforming me.  Which$6#1$ is me
125:266,13@a   | myself.
125:266,14@a   | And at the same time they all love me exceedingly the moment they think I
125:266,15@a   | am in$4$ line with them.  The moment they think I am in$4$ line with them, they are
125:266,16@a   | awfully fond of me.  Monica, Mary, Old George, even Aunt*Matilda, they are
125:266,17@a   | almost all of them in$4$ love with me then, and they would give me anything.  If I
125:266,18@a   | asked Mary to$9$ sleep with me, as a sin, as something I should not, but I went
125:266,19@a   | down on$4$ my knees and begged her, because I could not help myself, she would give
125:266,20@a   | in$5$ to$4$ me like$4$ anything.  And Monica, if I was willing to$9$ be forgiven, would
125:266,21@a   | forgive me with unction.
125:266,22@a   | But since I refuse the sin business, and I never go down on$4$ my knees, and
125:266,23@a   | since I say that$3$ my way is better than theirs, and that$3$ I should have my two
125:266,24@a   | wives, and both of them know that$3$ it is an honour for$4$ them to$9$ be taken by$4$ me,
125:266,25@a   | an honour for$4$ them to$9$ be put into my house and acknowledged there, they
125:266,26@a   | would like$1$ to$9$ kill me.  It is I who$6#1$ must grovel, I who$6#1$ must submit to$4$ judgment.
125:266,27@a   | If I would but submit to$4$ their judgment, I could do all the wicked things I
125:266,28@a   | like$1$, and they would only love me better.  But since I will$1$ never submit to$4$
125:266,29@a   | them, they would like$1$ to$9$ destroy me off the face of the earth, like$4$ a rattle-snake.
125:266,30@a   |
125:266,31@a   | They shall not do it.  But I must be wary.  I must not put out my hand to$9$ ask
125:266,32@a   | them for$4$ anything, or they will$1$ strike my hand like$4$ vipers out of a hole.  I must
125:266,33@a   | take great care to$9$ ask them for$4$ nothing, and to$9$ take nothing from them.
125:266,34@a   | Absolutely I must have nothing from them, not so$5#1$ much as to$9$ let them carry
125:266,35@a   | the cup of tea for$4$ me, unpaid.  I must be very careful.  I should not have let
125:266,36@a   | that$6#2$ brown snake of a Mary see I wanted her.  As for$4$ Monica, I married her,
125:266,37@a   | so$3$ that$6#2$ makes them allow me certain rights, as far as she is concerned.  But she
125:266,38@a   | has her rights, too, and the moment she thinks I trespass on$4$ them, she will$1$
125:266,39@a   | unsheath her fangs.
125:266,40@a   | As for$4$ me, I refuse their social rights, they can keep them.  If they will$1$ give
125:266,41@a   | me no$2$ rights, to$4$ the man I am, to$4$ me as I am, they shall give me nothing.
125:266,42@a   | God, what am I going to$9$ do?  I feel like$4$ a man whom the snake-worshipping
125:266,43@a   | savages have thrown into one of their snake pits.  All snakes, and if I touch a
125:266,44@a   | single one of them, it will$1$ bite me.  Man or woman, wife or friend, every one
125:266,45@a   | of them is ready for$4$ me since I am rich.  Daniel in$4$ the den of lions was a
125:267,01@a   | comfortable man in$4$ comparison.  These are all silent, damp, creeping snakes,
125:267,02@a   | like$4$ that$6#2$ yellow-faced Mary there, and that$6#2$ little whip-snake of a Monica,
125:267,03@a   | whom I have loved.  
125:267,03@z   | "Now they bite me where I most have sinned," 
125:267,03@a   | says old
125:267,04@a   | Don*Rodrigo, when the snakes of the Inferno bite his genitals.  So$3$ they shall
125:267,05@a   | not bite me.  God in$4$ heaven, no$7$, so$3$ they shall not bite me.   Snakes they are, and
125:267,06@a   | the world is a snake pit into which$6#1$ one is thrown.  But still they shall not bite
125:267,07@a   | me.  As sure as God is God, they shall not bite me.  But I will$1$ crush their heads
125:267,08@a   | rather.
125:267,09@a   | Why did I want that$6#2$ Mary?  How unspeakably repulsive she is to$4$ me now!
125:267,10@a   | Why did I ever want Monica so$5#1$ badly?  God, I shall  never want her again.
125:267,11@a   | They shall not bite my genitals as they bit Don*Rodrigo, or Don*Juan.  My
125:267,12@a   | name is John, but I am no$2$ Don.  God forbid that$3$ I should take a title from
125:267,13@a   | them.
125:267,14@a   | And the soft, good Tom and Lennie, they shall live their lives, but not with
125:267,15@a   | my life.
125:267,16@a   | Am I not a fool!  Am I not a pure crystal of a fool!  I thought they would love
125:267,17@a   | me for$4$ what I am, for$4$ the man I am, and they only love me for$4$ the me as they
125:267,18@a   | want me to$9$ be.  They only love me because they get themselves glorified out
125:267,19@a   | of me.
125:267,20@a   | I thought at least they would give me a certain reverence, because I am
125:267,21@a   | myself and because I am different, in$4$ the name of the Lord.  But they have all
125:267,22@a   | got their fangs full and surcharged with insult, to$9$ vent it on$4$ me the moment I
125:267,23@a   | stretch out my hand.
125:267,24@a   | I thought they would know the Lord was with me, and a certain new thing
125:267,25@a   | with me on$4$ the face of the earth.  But if they know the Lord is with me, it is
125:267,26@a   | only so$3$ that$3$ they can intensify and concentrate their poison, to$9$ drive Him out
125:267,27@a   | again.  And if they guess a new thing in$4$ me, on$4$ the face of the earth, it only
125:267,28@a   | makes them churn their bile and secrete their malice into a poison that$6#1$ would
125:267,29@a   | corrode the face of the Lord.
125:267,30@a   | Lord!  Lord!  That$3$ I should ever have wanted them, or even wanted to$9$
125:267,31@a   | touch them!  That$3$ ever I should have wanted to$9$ come near them, or to$9$ let
125:267,32@a   | them come near me.  Lord, as the only boon, the only blessedness, leave me
125:267,33@a   | intact, leave me utterly isolate and out of the reach of all men.
125:267,34@a   | That$3$ I should have wanted!  That$3$ I should have wanted Monica so$5#1$ badly!
125:267,35@a   | Well, I got her, and she saves her fangs in$4$ silent readiness for$4$ me, for$4$ the me
125:267,36@a   | as I am, not for$4$ the me that$6#1$ is hers.  That$3$ I should have wanted this Mary,
125:267,37@a   | whom I now despise.  That$3$ I should have thought of a new little world of my
125:267,38@a   | own!
125:267,39@a   | What a fool!  To$9$ think of Abraham, and the great men in$4$ the early days.  To$9$
125:267,40@a   | think that$3$ I could take up$5$ land in$4$ the North, a big wild stretch of land, and
125:267,41@a   | build my house and raise my cattle and live as Abraham lived, at the
125:267,42@a   | beginning of time, but myself at another, late beginning.  With my wives and
125:267,43@a   | the children of my wives, and Tom and Lennie, with their families, my right
125:267,44@a   | hand and my left hand, and absolutely fearless.  And the men I would have
125:267,45@a   | work for$4$ me, because they were fearless and hated the world.  Each one
125:268,01@a   | having his share of the cattle, and the horses, at the end of the year.  Men
125:268,02@a   | ready to$9$ fight for$4$ me and with me, no$2$ matter against what.  A little world of
125:268,03@a   | my own, in$4$ the North-West.  And my children growing up$5$ like$4$ a new race on$4$
125:268,04@a   | the face of the earth, with a new creed of courage and sensual pride, and the
125:268,05@a   | black wonder of the halls of death ahead, and the call to$4$ the lords of death, on$4$
125:268,06@a   | earth.  With my Lord, as dark and splendid with lustrous doom, a sort of
125:268,07@a   | spontaneous royalty, for$4$ the God of my little world.  The spontaneous royalty
125:268,08@a   | of the other Overlord, giving me earth-royalty, like$4$ Abraham or Saul, that$6#1$
125:268,09@a   | can not be quenched and that$6#1$ moves on$5$ to$4$ perfection in$4$ death.  One's last and
125:268,10@a   | perfect lordliness in$4$ the halls of death, when slaves have sunk as carrion, and
125:268,11@a   | only the serene in$4$ pride are left to$9$ judge, the unborn.
125:268,12@a   | A little world of my own!  As if I could make it with the people that$6#1$ are on$4$
125:268,13@a   | earth to-day!  No$7$, no$7$, I can do nothing but stand alone.  And, then, when I
125:268,14@a   | die, I shall not drop like$4$ carrion on$4$ the earth's earth.  I shall be a lord of death,
125:268,15@a   | and sway the destinies of the life to$9$ come.
126:269,01['  ]| Jack was glad to$9$ get away from Perth, to$9$ ride out and leave no$2$ vestige of
126:269,02['  ]| his soul behind, for$4$ them to$9$ work mischief on$4$.  He saddled his horse
126:269,03['  ]| before dawn, and still before sun was up$5$, he was trotting along beside the
126:269,04['  ]| river.  He loved the world, the early morning, the sense of newness.  It was
126:269,05['  ]| natural to$4$ him to$9$ like$1$ the world, the trees, the sky, the animals, and even, in$4$ a
126:269,06['  ]| casual way, people.  It was his nature to$9$ like$1$ the casual people he came across.
126:269,07['  ]| And, casually, they all liked him.  It was only when he approached nearer,
126:269,08['  ]| into intimacy, that$3$ he had a revulsion.
126:269,09['  ]| In$4$ the casual way of life he was good-humoured, and could get on$5$ with
126:269,10['  ]| almost everybody.  He took them all at their best, and they responded.  For$3$,
126:269,11['  ]| on$4$ the whole, people are glad to$9$ be taken at their best, on$4$ trust.
126:269,12['  ]| But when he went further, the thing broke down.  Casually, he could get on$5$
126:269,13['  ]| with anybody.  Intimately, he could get on$5$ with nobody.  In$4$ intimate life he
126:269,14['  ]| was quiet and unyielding, often oppressive.  In$4$ the casual way he was most
126:269,15['  ]| yielding and agreeable.  Therefore it was his friends who$6#1$ suffered most from
126:269,16['  ]| him.
126:269,17['  ]| He knew this.  He knew that$3$ Monica and Lennie suffered from his aloofness
126:269,18['  ]| and a certain arrogance, in$4$ intimate life.  So$5#1$ friendly with everybody, he
126:269,19['  ]| was.  And at the centre not really friendly even with his wife and his dearest
126:269,20['  ]| friends.  Withheld, unyielding, exacting even in$4$ his silence, he kept them in$4$ a
126:269,21['  ]| sort of suspense.
126:269,22['  ]| As he rode his bright bay stallion on$4$ the soft road, he became aware of this.
126:269,23['  ]| Perhaps his horse was the only creature with which$6#1$ he had the right relation.
126:269,24['  ]| He did not love it, but he harmonised with it.  As if, between them, they made
126:269,25['  ]| a sort of centaur.  It was not love.  It was a sort of understanding in$4$ power and
126:269,26['  ]| mastery and crude life.  A harmony even more than an understanding.  As if
126:269,27['  ]| he himself were the breast and arms and head of the ruddy, powerful horse,
126:269,28['  ]| and it, the flanks and hoofs.  Like$4$ a centaur.  It had a real joy in$4$ riding away
126:269,29['  ]| with him to$4$ the bush again.  He knew by$4$ the uneven, springy dancing.  And he
126:269,30['  ]| had perhaps a greater joy.  The animal knew it in$4$ the curious pressure of his
126:269,31['  ]| knees, and the soft rhythm of the bit.  Between them, they moved in$4$ a sort of
126:269,32['  ]| triumph.
126:269,33['  ]| The red stallion was always glad when Jack rode alone.  It did not like$1$
126:269,34['  ]| company, particularly human company.  When Jack rode alone his horse had
126:269,35['  ]| a curious bubbling exultant movement.  When he rode in$4$ company it went in$4$
126:269,36['  ]| a more suppressed way.  And when he stopped to$9$ talk to$4$ people, in$4$ his
126:269,37['  ]| affable, rather loving manner, the horse became irritable, chafing to$9$ go on$5$.
126:270,01['  ]| He had long ago realised that$3$ the bay could not bear it when he reined in$5$ and
126:270,02['  ]| stayed chatting.  His voice, in$4$ its amiable flow, seemed to$9$ irritate the animal.
126:270,03['  ]| And it did not like$1$ Lennie.  Lucy, the old mare, loved Lennie.  Most horses
126:270,04['  ]| liked him.  But Jack's stallion got a bit wicked, irritable with him.
126:270,05['  ]| And when Jack had made a fool of himself, as with Mary, and felt tangled,
126:270,06['  ]| he always craved to$9$ get on$4$ his horse Adam, to$9$ be put right.  He would feel the
126:270,07['  ]| warm flow of life from the horse mount up$4$ him and wash away in$4$ its flood
126:270,08['  ]| the human entanglements in$4$ his nerves.  And sometimes he would feel guilty
126:270,09['  ]| towards his horse Adam, as if he had betrayed the natural passion of the
126:270,10['  ]| horse, giving way to$4$ the human travesty.
126:270,11['  ]| Now, in$4$ the morning before sunrise, with the red horse bubbling with
126:270,12['  ]| exultance between his knees, his soul turned with a sudden jerk of realisation
126:270,13['  ]| away from his fellow-men.  He really did not want his fellow-men.  He did not
126:270,14['  ]| want that$6#2$ amiable casual association with them, which$6#1$ took up$5$ so$5#1$ large a part
126:270,15['  ]| of his life.  It was a habit and a bluff on$4$ his part.  Also it was part of his nature.
126:270,16['  ]| A certain real amiability in$4$ him, and a natural kindly disposition towards his
126:270,17['  ]| fellow-men combatted inside him with a repudiation of the whole trend of
126:270,18['  ]| modern human life, the emotional, spiritual, ethical, and intellectual trend.
126:270,19['  ]| Deep inside himself, he fought like$4$ a wild-cat against the whole thing.  And
126:270,20['  ]| yet, because of a naturally amiably-disposed, even benevolent nature in$4$
126:270,21['  ]| himself, he took any casual individual into his warmth, and was bosom
126:270,22['  ]| friends for$4$ the moment.  Until, inevitably, after a short time the individual
126:270,23['  ]| betrayed himself a unit of the universal human trend, and then Jack recoiled
126:270,24['  ]| in$4$ anger and revulsion again.
126:270,25['  ]| This was a sort of dilemma.  Monica, and Tom, and Lennie, who$6#1$ knew him
126:270,26['  ]| intimately, knew the absoluteness of his repudiation of mankind and mankind's
126:270,27['  ]| direction in$4$ general.  They knew it to$4$ their cost, having suffered from
126:270,28['  ]| it.  Therefore the anomaly of his casual intimacies and his casual bosom-friendships
126:270,29['  ]| was considerably puzzling and annoying to$4$ them.  He seemed to$4$
126:270,30['  ]| them false to$4$ himself, false to$4$ the other thing he was trying to$9$ put across.
126:270,31['  ]| Above all, it seemed false to$4$ them, his real, old friends, towards whom he was
126:270,32['  ]| so$5#1$ silently exacting and overbearing.
126:270,33['  ]| This morning, after his fiasco with Mary, he vaguely realised himself.  He
126:270,34['  ]| vaguely realised that$3$ he had to$9$ make a change.  The casual intimacies were
126:270,35['  ]| really a self-betrayal.  But they made his life easy.  It was the easiest way for$4$
126:270,36['  ]| him to$9$ encounter people.  To$9$ suppress for$4$ the time being his deepest self, his
126:270,37['  ]| thoughts, his feelings, his vital repudiation of the way of human life now, and
126:270,38['  ]| to$9$ play at being really pleasant and ordinary.  He liked to$9$ think that$3$ most
126:270,39['  ]| people, casually and superficially, were nice.  He hated having to$9$ withdraw.
126:270,40['  ]| But now, after the fiasco with Mary, he realised again his necessity to$9$
126:270,41['  ]| withdraw.  To$9$ pass people by$5$.  They were all going in$4$ the opposite direction to$4$
126:270,42['  ]| his own.  Then he was wrong to$9$ rein up$5$ and pretend a bosom-friendship for$4$
126:270,43['  ]| half an hour.  As he did so$5#2$, he was only being borne downstream, in$4$ the old,
126:270,44['  ]| deadly direction, against himself.
126:270,45['  ]| Even his horse knew it:  even old Adam.  He pressed the animal's sides with
126:271,01['  ]| his legs, and made a silent pact with him:  not to$9$ make this compromise of
126:271,02['  ]| amiability and casual friendship, not forever to$9$ be reining up$5$ and allowing
126:271,03['  ]| himself to$9$ be carried backwards in$4$ the weary flood of the old human
126:271,04['  ]| direction.  To$9$ forfeit the casual amiabilities, and go his way in$4$ silence.  To$9$
126:271,05['  ]| have the courage to$9$ turn his face right away from mankind.  His soul and his
126:271,06['  ]| spirit had already turned away.  Now he must turn away his face, and see
126:271,07['  ]| them all no$2$ more.
126:271,08[A  ]| "I never want to$9$ see their faces any more,"  
126:271,08['  ]| he said aloud to$4$ himself.  And
126:271,09['  ]| his horse between his thighs danced and began to$9$ canter, as the sun came
126:271,10['  ]| sparkling up$5$ over the horizon.  Jack looked into the sun, and knew that$3$ he
126:271,11['  ]| must turn his own face aside for*ever from the people of his world, not look
126:271,12['  ]| at them or communicate with them again, not any more.  Cover his own face
126:271,13['  ]| with shadow, and let the world pass on$4$ its way, unseen and unseeing.
126:271,14['  ]| And he must know as he knew his horse, not face to$4$ face, never any more
126:271,15['  ]| face to$4$ face, but communicating as he did with his stallion.  Adam, from a
126:271,16['  ]| pressure of the thighs and knees.  The arrows of the Archer, who$6#1$ is also a
126:271,17['  ]| centaur.
126:271,18['  ]| Vision is no$2$ good.  It is no$2$ good seeing any more.  And words are no$2$ good.  It
126:271,19['  ]| is useless to$9$ talk.  We must communicate with the arrows of sightless, wordless
126:271,20['  ]| knowledge, as Jack communicated with his horse, by$4$ a pressure of the thighs
126:271,21['  ]| and knees.
126:271,22['  ]| The sun had risen gold above the far-off ridge of the bush.  Jack drew up$5$ at
126:271,23['  ]| an inn by$4$ the side of the road, to$9$ eat breakfast.  He left his horse at the
126:271,24['  ]| hitching-post near the door, and went into the bar parlour.  There was a
126:271,25['  ]| smell of mutton chops frying, and he was hungry.
126:271,26['  ]| As he sat eating he heard his horse neighing fiercely.  He pricked his ears.
126:271,27['  ]| Again Adam's powerful neigh, and far off a high answering call of a mare.
126:271,28['  ]| He went out quickly to$4$ the door of the inn.  Adam stood by$4$ the post, his feet
126:271,29['  ]| apart, his ears erect, his head high up$5$, looking with flashing eyes back down
126:271,30['  ]| the road.  How beautiful he was!  in$4$ the newly-risen sun shining bright almost
126:271,31['  ]| as fire, every fibre of him on$4$ the alert, tall and overweening.  And down the
126:271,32['  ]| road, a grey horse, cloud colour, running eagerly forwards, its rider, a young
126:271,33['  ]| lady, flushing scarlet and trying to$9$ hold up$5$ her mare.  It was no$2$ good.  The
126:271,34['  ]| mare's shrill, wild neigh came answering the stallion's, and the lady rider was
126:271,35['  ]| powerless to$9$ hold her creature back.  Strong, like$4$ bells in$4$ his deep chest, came
126:271,36['  ]| the stallion's call once more.  And, lifting her head as she ran on$5$ swift, light
126:271,37['  ]| feet, the mare sang back.
126:271,38['  ]| The girl was Hilda*Blessington.  Jack took his horse and quickly ran him,
126:271,39['  ]| rearing and flaming, round to$4$ the stable.  There he shut him up$5$, though his
126:271,40['  ]| feet were thudding madly on$4$ the wooden floor, and his powerful neighing
126:271,41['  ]| shook the place with a sound like$4$ fire.
126:271,42['  ]| The grey mare came running straight to$4$ the stable, carrying its helpless,
126:271,43['  ]| scarlet-flushing rider.  Jack lifted the girl down, and held the mare.  There
126:271,44['  ]| was a terrific thudding from the stable.
126:271,45[A  ]| "I will$1$ put her in$4$ the paddock, shall I?"  
126:271,45['  ]| said Jack.
126:272,01[K  ]| "I think you had better," 
126:272,01['  ]| she said.
126:272,02['  ]| He looked uneasily at the stable, whence came a sound of something going
126:272,03['  ]| smash.  The shut-up stallion sounded like$4$ an enclosed thunder-storm.
126:272,04[A  ]| "Shall I put them both in$4$ the paddock?"  
126:272,04['  ]| said Jack.  
126:272,04[A  ]| "It seems the simplest
126:272,05[A  ]| thing to$9$ do."
126:272,06[K  ]| "Yes," 
126:272,06['  ]| she murmured in$4$ confusion.  
126:272,06[K  ]| "Perhaps you had better."
126:272,07['  ]| She was rather frightened.  The duet of neighing was terrific, like$4$ the bells
126:272,08['  ]| of some wild cathedral going at full clash.  The landlord of the inn came
126:272,09['  ]| running up$5$.  Jack was just slipping the mare's saddle off.
126:272,10[A  ]| "Steady!  Steady!"  
126:272,10['  ]| he said.  Then to$4$ the landlord:
126:272,11[A  ]| "Take her to$4$ the paddock and turn her loose.  I am going to$9$ turn the horse
126:272,12[A  ]| loose with her."
126:272,13['  ]| The landlord dragged the frantic grey animal away, while she screamed
126:272,14['  ]| and reared and pranced.
126:272,15['  ]| Jack ran to$4$ the stable door, calling to$4$ his horse.  He opened carefully.  The
126:272,16['  ]| first thing he saw was the blazing eyes of the stallion.  The horse had broken
126:272,17['  ]| the halter, and had his nose and his wild eyes at the door, prepared to$9$ charge.
126:272,18['  ]| Jack called to$4$ him again, and managed to$9$ get in$4$ front of him and close the
126:272,19['  ]| door behind him.  The animal was listening to$4$ two things at once, thinking
126:272,20['  ]| two things at once.  He was quivering in$4$ every fibre, in$4$ a state almost of
126:272,21['  ]| madness.  Yet he stood quite still while Jack slipped off the loosened saddle.
126:272,22['  ]| Then again he began to$9$ jump.  Already he had smashed in$5$ one side of the
126:272,23['  ]| stall, and had a bleeding fetlock.  Jack got hold of the broken halter, and
126:272,24['  ]| opened the door.  The horse, like$4$ a great ruddy thunderbolt, sprang out of
126:272,25['  ]| the stable, jerking Jack with him.  The man, with a flying jump, got on$4$ the
126:272,26['  ]| bright, brilliant bare back of the stallion, and clung there as the creature,
126:272,27['  ]| swerving on$4$ powerful haunches past the terrified Hilda, ran with a terrific,
126:272,28['  ]| splendid neighing towards the paddock, moving rhythmic and handsome.
126:272,29['  ]| There was the grey mare at the gate, inside, neighing back, and the
126:272,30['  ]| landlord keeping guard.  The men had to$9$ be very quick, the one to$9$ open the
126:272,31['  ]| gate, the other to$9$ slip down.
126:272,32['  ]| Jack left the broken halter-rope dangling from his horse's head ~~ it was
126:272,33['  ]| broken quite short ~~ and went back into the yard.
126:272,34[A  ]| "What a commotion!"  
126:272,34['  ]| he said, laughingly, to$4$ the flushed, deeply embarrassed
126:272,35['  ]| girl.  
126:272,35[A  ]| "But you will$1$ not mind if your grey mare gets a foal to$4$ my horse?"
126:272,36[K  ]| "Oh, no$7$," 
126:272,36['  ]| she said.  
126:272,36[K  ]| "I shall like$1$ it."
126:272,37[A  ]| "Why not!"  
126:272,37['  ]| said he.  
126:272,37[A  ]| "They will$1$ be all right.  There is the landlord and another
126:272,38[A  ]| fellow there with them.  Will$1$ you come in$5$?  Have you had breakfast?  Come
126:272,39[A  ]| and eat something."
126:272,40['  ]| She went with him into the bar parlour, where he sat down again to$9$ eat his
126:272,41['  ]| half-cold mutton chops.  She was silent and embarrassed, but not afraid.  The
126:272,42['  ]| colour still was high in$4$ her young, delicate cheeks, but her odd, bright,
126:272,43['  ]| round, dark-grey eyes were fearless above her fear.  She had really a great
126:272,44['  ]| dread of everything, especially of the social world in$4$ which$6#1$ she had been
126:272,45['  ]| brought up$5$.  But her dread had made her fearless.  There was something
126:273,01['  ]| slightly uncanny about her, her quick, rabbit-like alertness and her quick,
126:273,02['  ]| open defiance, like$4$ some unyielding animal.  She was more like$4$ a hare than a
126:273,03['  ]| rabbit:  like$4$ a she-hare that$6#1$ will$1$ fight all the cats that$6#1$ are after her young.  And
126:273,04['  ]| she had a great capacity for$4$ remaining silent and remote, like$4$ a quaint rabbit
126:273,05['  ]| unmoving in$4$ a corner.
126:273,06[A  ]| "Were you riding this way by$4$ accident?"  
126:273,06['  ]| he asked her.
126:273,07[K  ]| "No$7$," 
126:273,07['  ]| she said quickly.  
126:273,07[K  ]| "I hoped I might see you.  Mary said you were
126:273,08[K  ]| leaving early in$4$ the morning."
126:273,09[A  ]| "Why did you want to$9$ see me?"  
126:273,09['  ]| he asked, amused.
126:273,10[K  ]| "I do not know.  But I did."
126:273,11[A  ]| "Well, it was a bit of a hubbub," 
126:273,11['  ]| he laughed.
126:273,12['  ]| She glanced at him sharply, warily on$4$ the defensive, and then laughed as
126:273,13['  ]| well, with a funny little chuckle.
126:273,14[K  ]| "Why did you leave so$5#1$ suddenly?"  
126:273,14['  ]| she asked.
126:273,15[A  ]| "No$7$, it was not sudden.  I had had enough."
126:273,16[K  ]| "Enough of what?"
126:273,17[A  ]| "Everything."
126:273,18[K  ]| "Even of Mary?"
126:273,19[A  ]| "Chiefly of Mary."
126:273,20['  ]| She eyed him again sharply, wonderingly, searchingly, then again gave
126:273,21['  ]| her odd little chuckle of a laugh.
126:273,22[K  ]| "Why ""chiefly of Mary""?"  
126:273,22['  ]| she asked.  
126:273,22[K  ]| "I think she is so$5#1$ nice.  She would make me
126:273,23[K  ]| such a good step-mother."
126:273,24[A  ]| "Do you want one?"  
126:273,24['  ]| he asked.
126:273,25[K  ]| "Yes, I do rather.  Then my father would want to$9$ get rid of me.  I should be
126:273,26[K  ]| in$4$ the way."
126:273,27[A  ]| "And do you want to$9$ be got rid of?"
126:273,28[K  ]| "Yes, I do, rather."
126:273,29[A  ]| "What for$4$?"
126:273,30[K  ]| "I want to$9$ go right away."
126:273,31[A  ]| "Back to$4$ England?"
126:273,32[K  ]| "No$7$.  Not that$6#2$.  Never there again.  Right away from Perth.  Into the unoccupied
126:273,33[K  ]| country.  Into the North-West."
126:273,34[A  ]| "What for$4$?"
126:273,35[K  ]| "To$9$ get away."
126:273,36[A  ]| "What from?"
126:273,37[K  ]| "Everything.  Just everything."
126:273,38[A  ]| "But what would you find when you had got away?"
126:273,39[K  ]| "I do not know.  I want to$9$ try.  I want to$9$ try."
126:273,40['  ]| She had such an odd, definite decisiveness and self-confidence, he was
126:273,41['  ]| very much amused.  She seemed the queerest, oddest, most isolated bird he
126:273,42['  ]| had ever come across.  Exceedingly well-bred, with all the charm of pure
126:273,43['  ]| breeding.  By$4$ nature, timorous like$4$ a hare.  But now, in$4$ her queer state of
126:273,44['  ]| rebellion, like$4$ a hare that$6#1$ is perfectly fearless, and will$1$ go its own way in$4$
126:273,45['  ]| determined singleness.
126:274,01[A  ]| "You must come and see Monica and me when we move to$4$ the North-West.
126:274,02[A  ]| Would you like$1$ to$9$?"
126:274,03[K  ]| "Very much.  When will$1$ that$6#2$ be?"
126:274,04[A  ]| "Soon.  Before the year is out.  Shall I tell Monica you are coming?  She would be
126:274,05[A  ]| glad of another woman."
126:274,06[K  ]| "Are you quite sure you want me?"
126:274,07[A  ]| "Quite."
126:274,08[K  ]| "Are you sure everybody will$1$ want me?  I shall not be in$4$ the way?  Tell me
126:274,09[K  ]| quite frankly."
126:274,10[A  ]| "I am sure everybody will$1$ want you.  And you can not be in$4$ the way, you are
126:274,11[A  ]| much too wary."
126:274,12[K  ]| "I only seem it."
126:274,13[A  ]| "Do come, though."
126:274,14[K  ]| "I should love to$9$."
126:274,15[A  ]| "Well, do.  When could you come?"
126:274,16[K  ]| "Any time.  To-morrow if you wish.  I am quite independent.  I have a
126:274,17[K  ]| certain amount of money, from my mother.  Not much, but enough for$4$ all I
126:274,18[K  ]| want.  And I am of age.  I am quite free.  And, I think, if I went, father would
126:274,19[K  ]| marry Mary.  I wish he would."
126:274,20[A  ]| "Why?"
126:274,21[K  ]| "Then I should be free."
126:274,22[A  ]| "But free what for$4$?"
126:274,23[K  ]| "Anything.  Free to$9$ breathe.  Free to$9$ live.  Free not to$9$ marry.  I know they
126:274,24[K  ]| want me to$9$ get married.  They have got their minds fixed on$4$ it.  And I am afraid
126:274,25[K  ]| they will$1$ force me to$9$ do it, and I do not want it."
126:274,26[A  ]| "Marry who$6#2$?"
126:274,27[K  ]| "Oh, nobody in$4$ particular.  Just somebody, do not you know."
126:274,28[A  ]| "And do not you want to$9$ marry?"  
126:274,28['  ]| asked Jack, amused.
126:274,29[K  ]| "No$7$.  No$7$, I do not.  Not any of the people I meet.  No$7$!  Not that$6#2$ sort of man.
126:274,30[K  ]| No$7$.  Never!"
126:274,31['  ]| He burst into a laugh, and she, glancing in$4$ surprise at his amusement,
126:274,32['  ]| suddenly chuckled.
126:274,33[A  ]| "Do not you like$1$ men?"  
126:274,33['  ]| he asked, still laughing.
126:274,34[K  ]| "No$7$.  I do not.  I dislike them very much."
126:274,35['  ]| Her quick, cool, alert manner of statement amused him more than anything.
126:274,36['  ]|
126:274,37[A  ]| "Not any men at all?"
126:274,38[K  ]| "No$7$.  Not yet.  And I dislike the idea of marriage.  I just hate it.  I do not think
126:274,39[K  ]| I would mind men so$5#1$ much, if it were not for$4$ marriage in$4$ the background.  I can not
126:274,40[K  ]| do with marriage."
126:274,41[A  ]| "Might you like$1$ men without marriage?"  
126:274,41['  ]| he asked, laughing.
126:274,42[K  ]| "I do not know," 
126:274,42['  ]| she said, with her odd precision.  
126:274,42[K  ]| "So$5#1$ far it is all just
126:274,43[K  ]| impossible.  I can not stand it.  All that$6#2$ sort of thing is impossible to$4$ me.  No$7$, I
126:274,44[K  ]| do not care for$4$ men at all."
126:274,45[A  ]| "What sort of thing is just impossible?"  
126:274,45['  ]| he asked.
126:275,01[K  ]| "Men!  Particularly \a\ man.  Impossible!"
126:275,02['  ]| Jack roared with laughter at her.  She seemed rather to$9$ like$1$ being laughed
126:275,03['  ]| at.  And her odd, cool, precise intensity tickled him to$4$ death.
126:275,04[A  ]| "You want to$9$ be virgin in$4$ the virgin bush?"  
126:275,04['  ]| he asked.
126:275,05['  ]| She glanced at him quickly.
126:275,06[K  ]| "Something like$4$ that$6#2$," 
126:275,06['  ]| she said, with her little chuckle.  
126:275,06[K  ]| "I think later on$5$,
126:275,07[K  ]| not now, not now" ~~ 
126:275,07['  ]| she shook her head ~~ 
126:275,07[K  ]| "I might like$1$ to$9$ be a man's second
126:275,08[K  ]| or third wife:  if the other two were living.  I would never be the first.  Never.
126:275,09[K  ]| You remember you talked about it?"
126:275,10['  ]| She looked at him with her round, bright, odd eyes, like$4$ an elf or some
126:275,11['  ]| creature of the border-land, and as he roared with laughter, she smiled
126:275,12['  ]| quickly and with an odd, mischievous response.
126:275,13[K  ]| "What you said the other night, when Aunt*Matilda was so$5#1$ angry, made me
126:275,14[K  ]| think of it.  She hates you," 
126:275,14['  ]| she added.
126:275,15[A  ]| "Who$6#2$, Aunt*Matilda?  Good job."
126:275,16[K  ]| "Yes, very good job!  Do not you think she is \terrible\?"
126:275,17[A  ]| "I do," 
126:275,17['  ]| said Jack.
126:275,18[K  ]| "I am glad you do.  I can not stand her. I like$1$ Mr*George.  But I do not care for$4$ it
126:275,19[K  ]| when he seems to$9$ like$1$ \me\."
126:275,20['  ]| Jack roared with laughter again, and again, from some odd corner of
126:275,21['  ]| herself, she smiled.
126:275,22[K  ]| "Why do you laugh?"  
126:275,22['  ]| she said.  But the infection of laughter made her give
126:275,23['  ]| a little chuckle.
126:275,24[A  ]| "It is all such a real joke," 
126:275,24['  ]| he said.
126:275,25[K  ]| "It is," 
126:275,25['  ]| she answered.  
126:275,25[K  ]| "Rather a bad joke."
126:275,26['  ]| Slowly he formed a dim idea of her precise life, with a rather tyrannous
126:275,27['  ]| father who$6#1$ was fond of her in$4$ the wrong way, and brothers who$6#1$ had bullied
126:275,28['  ]| her and jeered at her for$4$ her odd ways and appearance, and her slight
126:275,29['  ]| deafness.  The governess who$6#1$ had mis-educated her, the loneliness of the life
126:275,30['  ]| in$4$ London, the aristocratic but rather vindictive society in$4$ England, which$6#1$
126:275,31['  ]| had persecuted her in$4$ a small way, because she was one of the odd border-line
126:275,32['  ]| people who$6#1$ do not, and \can not\, really belong.  She kept an odd, bright,
126:275,33['  ]| amusing spark of revenge twinkling in$4$ her all the time.  She felt that$3$ with Jack
126:275,34['  ]| she could kindle her spark of revenge into a natural sun.  And without any
126:275,35['  ]| compunction she came to$9$ tell him.
126:275,36['  ]| He was tremendously amused.  She was a new thing to$4$ him.  She was one
126:275,37['  ]| who$6#1$ knew the world, and society, better than he did, and her hatred of it was
126:275,38['  ]| purer, more twinkling, more relentless in$4$ a quiet way.  Her way was absolutely
126:275,39['  ]| relentless, and absolutely quiet.  She had gone further along that$6#2$ line
126:275,40['  ]| than himself.  And her fearlessness was of a queer, uncanny quality, hardly
126:275,41['  ]| human.  She was a real border-line being.
126:275,42[A  ]| "All right," 
126:275,42['  ]| he said, making a pact with her.  
126:275,42[A  ]| "By$4$ Christmas we will$1$ ask you to$9$
126:275,43[A  ]| come and see us in$4$ the North-West."
126:275,44[K  ]| "By$4$ Christmas!  It is a settled thing?"  
126:275,44['  ]| she said, holding up$5$ her forefinger
126:275,45['  ]| with an odd, warning, alert gesture.
126:276,01[A  ]| "It is a settled thing," 
126:276,01['  ]| he replied.
126:276,02[K  ]| "Splendid!"  
126:276,02['  ]| she answered.  
126:276,02[K  ]| "I believe you will$1$ keep your word."
126:276,03[A  ]| "You will$1$ see I shall."
126:276,04['  ]| She rose.  The horses, quieted down, were caught and saddled and
126:276,05['  ]| brought round.  She glanced from her blue-grey mare to$4$ his red stallion, and
126:276,06['  ]| gave her odd, squirrel-like chuckle.
126:276,07[K  ]| "What a \9contretemps\," 
126:276,07['  ]| she said.  
126:276,07[K  ]| "It is like$4$ the sun mating with the moon."  
126:276,07['  ]| She
126:276,08['  ]| gave him a quick, bright, odd glance:  some of the coolness of a fairy.
126:276,09[A  ]| "Is it!"  
126:276,09['  ]| he exclaimed, as he lifted her into the saddle.  She was slim and light,
126:276,10['  ]| with an odd, remote reserve.
126:276,11['  ]| He mounted his horse.
126:276,12[K  ]| "We go different ways for$4$ the moment," 
126:276,12['  ]| she said.
126:276,13[A  ]| "Till Christmas," 
126:276,13['  ]| he answered.  
126:276,13[A  ]| "Then the moon will$1$ come to$4$ the sun, eh?
126:276,14[A  ]| Bring the mare with you.  She will$1$ probably be in$4$ foal."
126:276,15[K  ]| "I certainly will$1$.  Good-bye, till Christmas.  Do not forget.  I shall expect you
126:276,16[K  ]| to$9$ keep your word."
126:276,17[A  ]| "I will$1$ keep my word," 
126:276,17['  ]| he said.  
126:276,17[A  ]| "Good-bye, till Christmas."
126:276,18['  ]| He rode away, laughing and chuckling to$4$ himself.  If Mary had been a
126:276,19['  ]| fiasco, this was a real joke.  A real, unexpected joke.
126:276,20['  ]| His horse travelled with quick, strong, rhythmic movement, inland, away
126:276,21['  ]| from the sea.  At the last ridge he turned and saw the pale blue ocean full of
126:276,22['  ]| light.  Then he rode over the crest and down the silent grey bush, in$4$ which$6#1$ he
126:276,23['  ]| had once been lost.