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Beyond the garden is a tennis-court, and around its high wire fences are trained grape-vines of different kinds, muscatels and black amber and shiraz, and lady’s-fingers, which yield splendidly without any shelter or artificial heat. On the other side of the house is a little orchard, not much more than an acre, where, all in the open air, grow melons, oranges, lemons, persimmons (or Japanese plums), apples, pears, peaches, apricots, custard-apples (a curious tropical fruit, which is soft inside and tastes like a sweet custard), guavas (from which delicious jelly is made), and also strawberries and raspberries.

The far corner is taken up with a paddock, for the horses are not kept in a stable, night or day, except occasionally when a very wet, cold night comes.

That is the surrounding of Jim’s home. Inside the house there is to-day a great deal of bustle. Everybody is working—all the members of the family as well as the two maid-servants, for in Australia it is the rule to do things for yourself and not to rely too much on the labour of servants (who are hard to get and to keep). Even baby pretends to help, and has to be allowed to carry about a “billy” to give her the idea that she is useful. This “billy” is a tin pot in which, later on, water will be boiled over a little fire in the forest, and tea made. Food is packed up—perhaps cold meats, perhaps chops or steaks which will be grilled in the bush-fire. Always there are salads, cold fruit pies, home-made cakes, fruit; possibly wine for the elders. But tea is never forgotten. It would not be a picnic without tea.

Now a drag is driven around to the front gate by the one man-servant of the house, who has harnessed up the horses and put food for them in the drag. Some neighbours arrive; a picnic may be made up of just the members of one family, but usually there is a mingling of families, and that adds to the fun. The fathers of the families, as like as not, ride saddle-horses and do not join the others in the drag; some of the elder children, too, boys and girls, may ride their ponies, for in Australia it is common for children to have ponies. The party starts with much laughter, with inquiries as to the safety of the “billy” and the whereabouts of the matches. It is a sad thing to go out in the Bush for a picnic and find at the last moment that no one has any matches with which to light a fire. The black fellows can start a flare by rubbing two sticks together, but the white man has not mastered that art.

The picnic makes its way along a Bush road four or five miles through pretty orchard country, given up mostly to growing peaches, grapes, and oranges, the cultivated patches in their bright colours showing in vivid contrast against the quiet grey-green of the gum-trees. It is spring, and all the peach-trees are dressed in gay pink bloom, and belts of this colour stretch into the forest for miles around.

The road leaves the cultivated area. The ground becomes rocky and sterile. The gum-trees still grow sturdily, but there is no grass beneath; instead a wild confusion of wiry heather-like brush, bearing all sorts of curious flowers, white, pink, purple, blue, deep brown. One flower called the flannel-daisy is like a great star, and its petals seem to be cut of the softest white flannel. The boronia and the native rose compel attention by their piercing, aromatic perfume, which is strangely refreshing. The exhaling breath of the gum-trees, too, is keen and exhilarating.

Now the path dips into a little hollow. What is that sudden blaze of glowing yellow? It is a little clump of wattle-trees, about as big as apple-trees, covered all over with soft flossy blossom of the brightest yellow. I like to imagine that the wattle is just prisoned sunlight; that one early morning the sun’s rays came stealing over the hill to kiss the wattle-trees while they seemed to sleep; but the trees were really quite wide-awake, and stretched out their pretty arms and caught the sunbeams and would never let them go; and now through the winter the wattles hide the sun rays away in their roots, cuddling them softly; but in spring they let them come out on the branches and play wild games in the breeze, but will never let them escape.

Past the little wattle grove there is a hill covered with the white gums. The young bark of these trees is of a pinky white, like the arms of a baby-girl. As the season advances and the sun beats more and more fiercely on the trees, the bark deepens in colour into red and brown, and deep brown-pink. After that the bark dies (in Australia most of the trees shed their bark and not their leaves), and as it dies strips off and shows the new fair white bark underneath.

Our party has now come to a gully (ravine) which carries a little fresh-water creek (stream) to an arm of the sea near by. This is the camping-place. A nice soft bit of meadow will be found in the shade of the hillside. The fresh-water stream will give water for the “billy” tea and for the horses to drink. Down below a dear little beach, not more than 100 yards long, but of the softest sand, will allow the youngsters to paddle their feet, but they must not go in to swim, for fear of sharks. The beach has on each side a rocky, steeply-shelving shore, and on the rocks will be found any number of fine sweet oysters. Jim and his mate Tom have brought oyster-knives, and are soon down on the shore, and in a very short while bring, ready-opened, some dozens of oysters for their mothers and fathers. The girls of the party are quite able to forage oysters for themselves. Some of them do so; others wander up the sides of the gully and collect wildflowers for the table, which will not be a table at all, but just a cloth spread over the grass.