He had served his apprenticeship to love and now might call himself craftsman. He knew where to chisel with his tools—not in the poor material of the human body, but in the enduring fabric of the spirit. He had learned this craft, and the fee of apprenticeship had been that he had put aside unrecognised the finest material that would come under his hand.
He came out of his reverie and found Maud watching him. He went towards her through the pools of water.
. . . . . .
My tale is told. While nine months have been wearing out, I have come back, night by night, to this tent, a scribe who would beguile the hour with the telling of a story. The tale is told to the last word. Put down the pen; run in the horses and saddle up. It is time to seek new places. The railway line creeps across the plain to Surprise; and growth and change will fall upon the camp to devour it. Take down the tent, fill up the tucker-bags and load the pack-horse. It is time to be gone.
W. C. Penfold & Co. Ltd., Printers, 183 Pitt Street, Sydney.
