Davey had climbed into the cart and taken his seat by his mother, angry and offended. He had no idea why they were laughing at him; and he sat stolid and sullen, brooding over it all the morning.
When they came to the ramshackle house of grey palings, with a roof of corrugated iron, on the top of the hill, two or three dogs flew out, barking furiously. A bullock-wagon was drawn up on the side of the road, and a lean stock horse, hitched to a post, stood twitching his tail to keep the flies away. Half a dozen scraggy fowls scratched and pecked about the water-butt.
A bare-legged little girl with wind-tossed dark hair ran out and stood staring at them. She had a little white, freckled face, and eyes as shy and bright as a startled wild creature.
Mrs. Cameron got down from the cart, leaving Davey in it holding the reins.
"Good-day," she said to the child. "I want to see Mr. Stevens."
The child stared at her.
Then a man came to the dark doorway of the house, a lean, lithe man, with bearded chin and quick restless eyes.
She went towards him and explained in a few eager words why she had come.
"Will you come in and take a seat, ma'am," he asked, his voice vibrating strangely.
She went into the house; its very shadow exhaled a stale smell of crude spirits and tobacco.