The Warners, it seemed, were station owners north of Coolgardie, and they were returning from a trip east.
"Our first for over twelve years," Mrs. Warner said. "We had a run over just after we were married."
"And we've never had any time since," ejaculated Mr. Warner.
"No, what with babies and hard work," Mrs. Warner's face saddened. Later, Mrs. Lester learned that two of the babies had failed to pull through a very bad summer. They had begun with a very little place, but gradually luck had come their way, and now they owned a big run.
"Thanks to our being willing to go out-back," said Mr. Warner. "People nowadays forget what the first settlers did—our grandparents, who went cheerfully out into the wilds and thought themselves lucky if they got a mail and stores twice a year. There's any amount of room yet for men and women with pluck enough to go into the back-country. But most of them nowadays want a place two minutes from a township, with a post office and a picture theatre round the corner. It makes me tired."
"Are you far out?" Mrs. Lester asked.
"Oh, not so far. Now that we have a car we get a mail once a fortnight, and that has made us feel very civilised. We used to have trouble with the blacks, but they're tame enough now."
"It was lonely enough at times," Mrs. Warner said. "One used to long to see another white woman. But now that the children are bigger things are better."
"Your little girl is old enough to be a companion to you now," Mrs. Lester said, smiling at Merle, who merely scowled.
"More of a companion to me, I'm afraid," said Mr. Warner, laughing. "Merle isn't a domesticated person; she thinks horses and dogs are the only real things that matter."