She threw a crumpled and disgustingly filthy doth three-cornered ways on to the dusty table and clapped thereon a couple of dirty knives and forks, a pair of cracked plates, two poley cups and chipped saucers.  Next came a plate of salt meat, red with saltpetre, and another of dark, dry, sodden bread.  She then disappeared to the kitchen to make the tea, and during her absence two of the little boys commenced to fight.  One clutched the tablecloth, and over went the whole display with a bang—­meat-dish broken, and meat on the dusty floor; while the cats and fowls, ever on the alert for such occurrences, made the most of their opportunities.  Mrs M’Swat returned carrying the tea, which was spilling by the way.  She gave those boys each a clout on the head which dispersed them roaring like the proverbial town bull, and alarmed me for the safety of their ear-drums.  I wondered if their mother was aware of their having ear-drums.  She grabbed the meat, and wiping it on her greasy apron, carried it around in her hand until she found a plate for it, and by that time the children had collected the other things.  A cup was broken, and another, also a poley, was put in its stead.

Mr M’Swat now appeared, and after taking a nip out of a rum bottle which he produced from a cupboard in the corner, he invited me to sit up to dinner.

There was no milk.  M’Swat went in entirely for sheep, keeping only a few cows for domestic purposes:  these, on account of the drought, had been dry for some months.  Mrs M’Swat apologized for the lack of sugar, stating she was quite out of it and had forgotten to send for a fresh supply.

“You damned fool, to miss such a chance wen I was goin’ to town with the wagonette!  I mightn’t be groin’ in again for munce [months].  But sugar don’t count much.  Them as can’t do without a useless luxury like that for a spell will never make much of a show at gettin’ on in the wu-r-r-r-1d,” concluded Mr M’Swat, sententiously.

The children sat in a row and, with mouths open and interest in their big wondering eyes, gazed at me unwinkingly till I felt I must rush away somewhere and shriek to relieve the feeling of overstrained hysteria which was overcoming me.  I contained myself sufficiently, however, to ask if this was all the family.

“All but Peter.  Where’s Peter, Mary Ann?”

“He went to the Red Hill to look after some sheep, and won’t be back till dark.”

“Peter’s growed up,” remarked one little boy, with evident pride in this member of the family.

“Yes; Peter’s twenty-one, and hes a mustatche and shaves,” said the eldest girl, in a manner indicating that she expected me to be struck dumb with surprise.

“She’ll be surprised wen she sees Peter,” said a little girl in an audible whisper.

Mrs M’Swat vouchsafed the information that three had died between Peter and Lizer, and this was how the absent son came to be so much older than his brothers and sisters.