LESSON 49 THE DROVER'S WIFE

THE DROVER'S WIFE

Ⅰ

THE two-roomed house is built of round timber, slabs, and stringy-bark, and floored with split slabs. A big bark kitchen standing at one end is larger than the house itself, veranda included. No other dwelling is to be seen in any direction. Bush all round—bush with no horizon, for the country is flat. No ranges in the distance. The bush consists of stunted ［1］ , native apple-trees. No undergrowth. Nothing to relieve the eye save the darker green of a few she-oaks ［2］ that are sighing above the narrow, almost waterless creek.

The drover, an ex-squatter ［3］ , is away with sheep. His wife and children are left here alone.

Four ragged, dried-up-looking children are playing about the house. Suddenly one of them yells,— "Snake! Mother, here's a snake!"

The gaunt sun-browned bushwoman dashes from the kitchen, snatches her baby from the ground, and seizes a stick.

Where is it?

Here! gone under the wood-heap! shouts the eldest boy—a sharp-faced urchin of eleven. "Stop there, mother! I'll have him. Stand back! I'll have him."

Tommy, come here, or you'll be bit. Come here at once, when I tell you. Do you hear?

The boy comes very reluctantly ［4］ , carrying a stick bigger than himself. Then he yells triumphantly ［5］ : "There it goes… under the house!" and darts away with club uplifted.

At that moment, a big, black, yellow-eyed dog, which has shown the keenest interest in the proceedings, breaks his chain, and rushes after the snake. He is a second late, however, and his nose reaches the crack in the slabs just as the end of its tail disappears. At the same instant, the boy's club comes down, and skins the poor dog's nose. Alligator takes little notice of that, and proceeds to undermine the building; but, after a struggle, he is subdued ［6］ , and chained up. They cannot afford to lose him.

The drover's wife makes the children stand together near the dog's kennel while she watches for the snake. She gets two saucers full of milk, and sets them down near the wall to tempt it to come out; but an hour goes by, and it does not show itself.

It is near sunset, and a thunderstorm is gathering. The children must be brought inside. She will not take them into the house, for she knows the snake is there, and may, at any moment, come up through the cracks in the rough slab floor; so she carries several armfuls of firewood into the kitchen, and then takes the children there. The kitchen has no floor, or, rather, it has an earthen one called a "ground" floor. There is a large roughly-made table in the centre of the place. She brings the children in, and makes them get on this table. There are two boys and two girls—mere babies. She gives them some supper, and then, before it becomes quite dark, she goes into the house, and snatches up some pillows and bedclothes—fearing at any moment to see the snake or lay her hand on it. She makes a bed on the kitchen table for the children, and, having brought the dog into the room, sits down to watch all night.

She keeps an eye on the corners of the room, and has a green sapling club lying in readiness on the rude dresser near her. Her sewing basket and a copy of the Young Ladies' Journal are on the table. Tommy goes to bed under protest, saying that he'll lie awake all night and watch for the snake.

* * * * * *

Near midnight. The children are all asleep, and she sits there still, sewing and reading by turns. From time to time, she glances round the floor and wall-plate, and, whenever she hears a noise, she reaches for the stick. The thunder- storm comes on, and the wind, rushing through the cracks in the slab wall, threatens to blow out her candle. She places it on a sheltered part of the dresser, and fixes up a newspaper to protect it. At every flash of lightning, the cracks between the slabs gleam like polished silver. The thunder rolls, and the rain comes down in torrents.

Alligator lies at full length on the floor, with his eyes turned towards the partition. She knows by this time that the snake is there. There are large cracks in that wall, opening under the floor of the dwelling-house.

She is not a coward, but recent events have shaken her nerves a little. A little son of her brother-in-law was lately bitten by a snake, and died. Besides, she has not heard from her husband for six months, and is anxious about him. He was a drover, and started squatting here when they were married. The drought of 18—ruined him. He had to sacrifice ［7］ the remnant ［8］ of his flock, and go droving again.

* * *

［1 ］ stunted: Small, stopped from growing.

［2 ］ she-oaks: Trees valued for their beautifully grained wood.

［3 ］ squatter: One who occupies a large sheep farm or station.

［4 ］ reluctantly: Unwillingly.

［5 ］ triumphantly: Joyfully.

［6 ］ subdued: Quietened.

［7 ］ sacrifice: Let go at a loss.

［8 ］ remnant: Remainder.