CHAPTER VIII

NOON Ah, . . . I remember The muster of cattle away outback, The thunder of hoofs and the stock-whip’s crack, The panting breaths on the warm sweet breeze, The tossing horns by Rosella trees, And the whirl of dust, and the hot hide’s reek! —_M. Forrest._ “ALL aboard!” “Are you girls ready? Hurry up.” From the direction of the garden came a faint hail, which might have been taken to mean anything. “Curious things, gi…