Mrs. Hurst had no answer for that question. She glanced away from the haggard misery of the other woman’s eyes.
“Just come up to the house, all of you, and let me take care of you,” she said. “The wind may not change, and we may get rain at any time—why, your Mick might be down looking for you in a day or two. Come and I will make you some tea.”
“My word, I could do with a cup o’ tea,” the woman said. “The poor kids, too—!” She beckoned to the two small boys, who had never stirred. “C’m on, you two. They been awful good, an’ it’s been a tough day.”
“It must have been a very tough day,” Mrs. Hurst said. “They will like some milk, and I have plenty.”
“Milk! My word, they ain’t seen milk f’r a blue moon!” said their mother.
“They shall have all they can drink now. Can you fix the wheel, Danny?”
“Would ’a’ had a job if the ol’ cart ’ud gone a hundred yards farther,” said Danny, who had jacked up the wheel, and was busy over it. “Dry as a bone, an’ near jammed altogether. Oh, yes, I’ll fix it all right, Mrs. Hurst.” He grinned sympathetically at the woman. “Don’t you worry, mum—I’ll bring the cart up to the house presently.”
“Will you put it into the big shed and turn the horse into the creek paddock, Danny? I’m sure Mr. Merritt would not mind.”
“Not ’im,” said Danny. “Right you are. Mrs. Hurst. Don’t you bother about anything.”
“Gimme the baby, Missus,” said the mother. “She’s too heavy for you to carry.”