They all packed into the shay, Jack sitting with his back to the horses, the little girl tied in beside him, his smaller luggage bundled where it could be stowed; and in absolute silence they drove through the silence of the standing, motionless gum trees. Jack had never felt such silence. At last they pulled up. Tom jumped down and drew a slip-rail, and they passed a log fence, inside which there were many sheep, though it was still bush. Tom got in again and they drove through bush, with occasional sheep. Then Tom got down again—Jack could not see for what purpose. The youth fetched an axe out of the cart and started chopping. A tree was across the road: he was chopping at the broken part. There came a sweet scent.
"Raspberry jam!" said Mr. Ellis. "That's acacia acuminata, a beautiful wood, good for fences, posts, pipes, walking-sticks. And they're burning it off by the million acres."
Tom pulled the trunk aside, and drove on again till he came to another gate. Then they saw ahead a great clearing in the bush, and in the midst of the clearing a "ginger-bread" house, made of wood slabs, with a shingle roof running low all round to the verandahs. A woman in dark homespun cloth with an apron and sunbonnet, and a young bearded man in moleskins and blue shirt, came out with a cheery shout.
"You get along inside and have some tea," said the young bearded man. "I'll change the horses."
The woman lifted down the baby, after having untied her.
There was a door in the front of the house, a window on each side. But they all went round under the eaves to the mud-brick kitchen behind, and had tea. The woman hardly spoke, but she smiled and passed the tea and nursed Ellie. When the young bearded man came in, he smiled and said:
"I've got the mail out of the shay, Mr. Ellis."
"That's all right," said Mr. Ellis.
After which no one spoke again.
When they set off once more, there was a splendid pair of greys on either side the pole.