Nearly three parts of the journey was accomplished—for Billy drove like a very Jehu—when the curate began to feel hungry. So, as they came to a deep gully where the rain-water lay in pools amongst the rocks, he made his guide pull up, and prepared to comfort the inner man.
Taking no notice of his companion, he sat down by the edge of the water, and began with immense gusto to demolish a roast fowl and other materials for a very fair repast.
[Illustration: Who hath woe? Who hath sorrow? Who hath contentions? ([Page 186].)]
At R—— the reverend gentleman had provided himself with two bottles of port, a wine which he had been told was a first-class specific in cases of bush-fever and [185] ]dysentery. The bottles were by this gone; but out of the last one he had filled a large travelling flask, which now producing, along with a tumbler, he proceeded—first qualifying his liquor with a modicum of water—to wash down his lunch.
Billy’s eyes sparkled. He at once recognised the smell and colour, but would have preferred rum.
However, little of anything, solid or fluid, seemed likely to fall to his share, for the weather was hot, and our curate thirsty.
Presently, addressing Cooronga, the Reverend Spicer, who had no idea of entering the scene of his ministrations, with such a figure as Billy for his charioteer, said,—
‘How many miles did you say it was from here to Dingo Creek?’