CHAPTER I
The evening air was hot and oppressive. Whisperings of a north wind came over the hills. The old gum-tree, which grew over the homestead, quivered, and turned the edges of its leaves to catch the silvery light of a new moon, which cut its way across the sky. The swish-swish of wild cats and the cries of opossums were heard. A weird boom, from bittern or bunyip, came from the swamp, and the curlew's solemn call echoed in the ranges.
"Just the time for love!" So thought Lanky Tim, who stood leaning against the doorpost of the kitchen. He seemed to be holding it up with the angle of his left shoulder. The light of a great, blazing fire fell upon his sharp, handsome face.
Annie Coonie, the cook, was bending over a large basin into which honey was dripping from a sack hanging by a hook over the mantelpiece. Two of the station hands had cut down a "bee-tree" on Vinegar Hill, and had brought home the contents of the hive. The honey was coming from the sack as clear as amber and smelling of wattle-blossom.
"Now, listen to me, Annie," said Tim; "you're as sweet as honey, by a deal: that's the blasted truth, an' no mistake about it."
"Oh, go away, Tim! you'll not earn your pound a week, an' found, by holdin' up that post—chances are you'll carry it away like as Samson carried off the gates of Gaza."
"Who's he, Annie? Seems I've heard o' him. I'd more likely carry you off. I'll make a lady of you if you'll only say yes. You'll have a silk dress, a diamond ring, an' servants to wait on you. I've got 640 acres of good land, two houses in Melbourne, an' money in the bank. Just say you'll be mine, and they are yours!"
"Nonsense! Rich men don't work for twenty shillin' a week, an' live in a slab-hut."
"I only do it, Annie, to be near you, an' that's no lie."