"Only a couple of cows and Lass," Mrs. Cameron replied. "They're in the top paddock."
"I'll run them down," Deirdre said.
Straddling Socks, and calling to the toothless old cattle dog who lay dozing on his paws before the kitchen door, she went to the hill-top and brought down the cows and Lass a few minutes later.
"Keep 'em there, Jock!" she said and left the old dog shepherding them in the yard behind the barns.
While she was away, Mrs. Cameron and Jenny had bundled half a dozen hens and a game rooster into a big wicker crate.
Just before sunset they went to the hill-top together, Mrs. Cameron and Deirdre, and Jenny buzzing before them.
Not a puff of air stirred the tawny curtain that obscured the hills. At a little distance the trees stood motionless. The light leaves of the young gum saplings hung, down-pointed, with a stillness that had tragedy in it. Faint and far away in the silence though was a rushing murmur. The smell of burning that had been in the air for days came with a harsher tang. Darkness was making way against the smoke-haze.
Neither Deirdre nor Mrs. Cameron spoke, staring into it.
A flock of parroquets flew out of the haze and scattered across the clearing with shrill, startled screams. A little brown feathered bird dropped into the grass. Deirdre picked it up.
"Its wings are singed," she said quickly, "and they're quite hot still! It can't have flown far."