For two more days we peered into the forest for travellers but none appeared, and Dan became retrospective. “We might have guessed this ’ud happen,” he said, declaring it was a “judgment on the missus” for chucking good tea away just because a fly got into it. “Luck’s cleared right out because of it, missus,” he said; “and if things go on like this Johnny’ll be coming along one of these days.” (Dan was the only one of us who could joke on the matter.)
“Luck’s smashed all to pieces,” he insisted later, when he found that the first pillow was finished; but at sundown was inclined to think it might be “on the turn again,” for Goggle-Eye appeared on the north track, stalking majestically in front of a horseman.
“Me bin catch traveller,” he said triumphantly, claiming his rewards, “Me bin come back two fellow sleep”; and before we could explain that was hardly what we had meant, the man had ridden up.
“Heard you were doing a famish here, sitting with your tongues hanging out,” he laughed, “so I’ve brought you a few more raisins.” And dismounting, he drew out from a pack-bag a long calico bag containing quite ten pounds of tea.
“You struck the Wag’s tin,” he said, explaining the mistake, as every one shouted for Sam to boil a kettle instantly, and with the tea came a message from the Wag himself:
“I’ll trouble you for my raisins”; and we could almost hear the Wag’s slow, dry chuckle underlying the words.
Mine Host also sent a message, saying he would “send further supplies every opportunity, to keep things going until the waggons came through,” and underlying his message we felt his kindly consideration. As a further proof of his thoughtfulness we found two china cups imbedded in the tea. He had heard of Sam’s accident. Tea in china cups! and as much and as strong as we desired. But in spite of Mine Host’s efforts to keep us going, twice again, before the waggons came, we found ourselves begging tea from travellers.
Our energies revived with the very first cup of tea, and we went for our usual evening stroll through the paddocks, with all our old appreciation; and on our return found the men stretched out on the grass beyond the Quarters, optimistic and happy, sipping at further cups of tea. (Sam’s kettle was kept busy that night.)
The men’s optimism was infectious, and presently the Măluka “supposed the waggons would be starting before long.”
It was only March, and the waggons had to wait till the Wet lifted; but just then every one felt sure that “the Wet would lift early this year.”