In the language of architecture, the construction had been but little decorated. A plain and roughly-built abode, composed of round saplings nailed vertically to the wall-plate, and plastered insufficiently with mud. The roof was thatched with reeds, put on in a very ineffectual and chance-medley manner. The hut or cottage contained two large and three small rooms. There was no garden whatever, or any attempt at the cultivation of the baked and hopelessly-looking clay soil. Close to the side of the house was a stockyard, comprising the ‘gallows’ of the colonists, a rough, rude contrivance, consisting of two uprights and a crosspiece, for elevating slaughtered cattle. Upon this structure was at present hanging the carcass of a fine six-months-old calf. No other enclosure was visible, the only attempt at the preservation of neatness being the sweeping of the earth immediately around the front and back doors.
Tottie immediately clattered up to the hut door, the black mare putting her head so far in that she obstructed the egress of a middle-aged woman, who made haste to come forth and receive the guests.
‘Mother,’ said the girl, ‘here’s Miss Neuchamp come to see you; bring a chair for her to get off by.’
This article of furniture having been supplied, Augusta was fain to descend upon it with as much dignity as she could manage, not being confident of her ability to drop down, like the agile Tottie, from a tallish horse, as was Osmund. Tottie, having given the horses in charge of a small brown-faced brother, who spent his whole time in considering Osmund, and apparently learning him by heart, welcomed Miss Neuchamp into her home. That young lady found herself for the first time under the roof of an Australian free-selector, and felt that she had acquired a new experience.
‘Come in, miss; I’m very glad to see you, I’m sure; please to sit down,’ was the salutation Augusta received, in tones that spoke a hearty welcome, in very pure unaccented English.
Miss Neuchamp selected the most ‘reliable’ looking of the wooden-seated American chairs, and depositing herself thereon, looked around. The dwelling was, she thought, more prepossessing than the outside had led her to imagine. Though everything was plain to ugliness, there was yet nothing squalid or repulsive. All things were very clean. The room in which they sat was evidently only used as a parlour or ‘living room.’ It was fairly large and commodious. The earthen floor was hard, even, and well swept. A large table occupied the centre. The fireplace was wide and capacious, the mantelpiece so high that it was not easy to reach. There was a wooden sofa covered with faded chintz, and an American clock. Half a dozen cheap chairs, a shelf well filled with indifferently bound books, a few unframed woodcuts hung upon the walls, made up the furniture and ornamentation. Opening from this apartment laterally was evidently a bedroom. At the back a skilling, a lower roofed portion of the building, contained several smaller rooms. A detached two-roomed building, in what would have been the back-yard had any enclosure been made, was probably the kitchen and laundry.
Mrs. Freeman insisted upon putting down the kettle to boil, in order that she might make a cup of tea for her distinguished visitor, evidently under the opinion that every one naturally desired to drink tea whenever they could get it.
‘And how have you been behaving yourself, Tottie?’ said she, addressing her daughter, as a convenient mode of opening the conversation. ‘I hope and trust you’ve been a help to Miss Neuchamp. Has she, miss?’
‘Oh, certainly,’ answered Augusta; ‘Mary Anne has been a very good girl indeed. I don’t know how I should get on without her. And I have borrowed her side-saddle too. How long will it be before Mr. Freeman comes home?’
‘Oh, he won’t be home much before dark. He’s always out on the run all day long. He hates coming in before the day is done.’