She was on the edge of a small clear space, at the farther side of which was a huge blue-gum tree. Tall trees ringed it round, and the whole space was in deep shade. Norah stood rooted to the ground in surprise.
For at the foot of the big blue-gum was a strange sight, in that lonely place. It was nothing more or less than a small tent.
The flap of the tent was down, and there were no inhabitants to be seen; but all about were signs of occupation. A well-blackened billy hung from the ridge-pole. Close to the tent was a heap of dry sticks, and a little farther away the ashes of a fire still smouldered, and over them a blackened bough, supported by two forked sticks, showed that the billy had many times been boiled there. The little camp was all very neat and tidy. “It looks quite home-like,” said Norah to herself.
As she watched, the flap of the tent was raised, and a very old man came out. He was so tall that he had to bend almost double in stooping under the canvas of the low tent. A queer old man, Norah thought him, as she drew back instinctively into the shadow of the trees. When he straightened himself he was wonderfully tall—taller even than Dad, who was over six feet. He wore no hat, and his hair and beard were very long, and as white as snow. Under bushy white eyebrows, a pair of bright blue eyes twinkled. Norah decided that they were nice eyes.
But he certainly was queer. His clothes would hardly have passed muster in Collins Street, and would even have attracted attention in Cunjee. He was dressed entirely in skins—wallaby skins, Norah guessed, though there was an occasional section that looked like ’possum. They didn’t look bad, either, she thought—a kind of sleeved waistcoat, and loose trousers, that were met at the knee by roughly-tanned gaiters, or leggings. Still, the whole effect was startling.
The old man walked across to his fire and, kneeling down, carefully raked away the ashes. Then he drew out a damper—Norah had never seen one before, but she knew immediately that it was a damper. It looked good, too—nicely risen, and brown, and it sent forth a fragrance that was decidedly appetizing. The old man looked pleased “Not half bad!” he said aloud, in a wonderfully deep voice, which sounded so amazing in the bush silence that Norah fairly jumped.
The old man raked the ashes together again, and placed some sticks on them, after which he brought over the billy, and hung it above the fire to boil. The fire quickly broke into a blaze, and he picked up the damper again, and walked slowly back to the tent, where he paused to blow the dust from the result of his cookery.
At this moment Norah became oppressed with a wild desire to sneeze. She fought against it frantically, nearly choking in her efforts to remain silent, while she wildly explored in her pockets for a nonexistent handkerchief.
As the water bursts from the dam the more violently because of its imprisonment, so Norah’s sneeze gained intensity and uproar from her efforts to repress it. It came—
“A—tish—oo—oo!”