A flock of great white cockatoos flew nearly over their heads, shrieking at them hoarsely, and went on toward the trees beyond the camp.
“I say, doesn’t it seem rum? They’re cockatoos.”
“Wild, and never saw a cage in their lives.”
“And we never fired and brought them down, and all the time with guns on our shoulders. Look!”
“Father’s waving to us to separate. I daresay they’ll send us something to eat.”
The boys separated and went off to their posts, while smoke began to rise in the little camp, the tin kettle was filled and suspended over the wood fire, and Aunt Georgie brought out of their baggage the canister of tea and bag of sugar set apart for the journey.
Bread they had brought with them, and a fair amount of butter, but a cask of flour was so packed that it could be got at when wanted for forming into damper, in the making of which the girls had taken lessons of a settler’s wife at the port.
In making his preparations Captain Bedford had, as hinted, been governed a good deal by old campaigning experience, and this he brought to bear on the journey.
“Many things may seem absurd,” he said, “and out of place to you women, such for instance as my planting sentries.”
“Well, yes,” said Aunt Georgie, “it’s like playing at soldiers. Let the boys come and have some lunch.”