“We need such a lot,” she said with a laugh.  “I did have an enamelled soup tureen I used for the potatoes, but the enamel chipped off a bit and I thought it might hurt the children if they swallowed it.  So now we put the potatoes in the washing-basin and wash up in the tureen.”

While the meal was in progress they all talked at once.  The children after their first shyness had worn off were entranced when they learnt that their guests had, only a few months ago, been in a real ship on the real sea.  Marcella, in turn, was fascinated in watching the manoeuvre with which Jerry concealed the fact that there were not enough knives and forks to go round.  He, being ten, was old and tactful; he cut up his meat and ate a few swift mouthfuls frowning into quietness the nudging and protesting brother at his side who wanted his innings with the knife.

“We seem to be a bit short of usables,” said Mrs. Twist, complacently drinking tea out of a jampot.  “It’s all along of that bush-fire last year, when we lost everything.”

“We ought to have got out our pannikins,” said Marcella, “but we were so tired and hungry I couldn’t think of anything but how nice it was to get here.”

“You can’t think how glad I am to see you,” said Mrs. Twist.  “I haven’t seen a woman since little Millie was born two years ago.”

There seemed a million things to talk about.  When the last scrap of jam was satisfactorily disposed of, the seven children scattered in seven directions.  Mrs. Twist and Marcella washed the dishes; Mr. Twist and Louis smoked on the verandah.  A great collie walked sedately into the room and looked at the cleared table reproachfully.  Betty appeared with an air of magic and found him a plateful of food.  The children seemed to be attached to their mother by invisible wires.  At one minute their voices could be heard, shrieking and calling to each other.  The next, when she went along the verandah with Mrs. Twist, most of them were in their hammocks, falling asleep.

“I wish they were a bit older,” sighed the mother, at the door of their room.  Two merry voices giggled in the darkness.

“That makes you older, too,” said Marcella softly.

“They’re so many to feed, and there’s only Jerry can do much to help father yet.  We’ve thirty acres of gorse to clear—­and it seems impossible to get at it.  It ought to have been done two years ago, but the Government have given us grace when we explained about the bush-fire.  We lost a thousand sheep then, you know.  And the Homestead was mostly burnt down.”

They went along towards the men.

“It’s a hard life,” said Mrs. Twist uncomplainingly.  “But the children are well and happy.”