At Klondyke and Loose End they were great on celebrations.  So very little except work happened that birthdays wedding-days, and anniversaries of all sorts wore greeted hilariously, and the various members of the community took it in turn to hold them at their various homesteads.  A birthday happened to Mrs. Twist—­her fortieth.  She and Mr. Twist were the oldest inhabitants of the district and the birthday was a great occasion.  Invitations were passed round from hand to mouth; about twenty grownups and twice as many children turned up one Saturday afternoon just before tea at the Homestead, which, decorated in branches of wattle and boughs of eucalyptus, looked very festive.  The gathering had something of the nature of a surprise party in that most of the guests brought something to eat or drink.  But most of them, in delicate compliment to the changed fortunes of Loose End, brought not necessities but luxuries.  Jerry’s gramophone was still hoarsely valiant; three Italians from Klondyke, manganese miners, brought mandolines; Jerry had recently acquired a mouth-organ with bells.

Marcella was always rather depressed about celebrations.  Always Louis said, easily, that he would be safe; always he joined forces with the hard-bitten, hard-toiling miners who each brought his bottle of whisky and drank it without ill-effect.  She could do nothing to help him:  he resented her anxiety more and more as time went on.

The Homestead had grown.  At the south side a big storeroom had been built:  at one end of it flour-bags were stocked, both empty and full, to serve as seats for the dancers when they were exhausted.  The guests sat long over tea, yarning, chaffing, gossiping and talking business; as it grew dusk the men sat on the verandah, smoking reflectively, talking little.  In the living room the women all chattered at once.  Louis had been working during the day on the gorse clearing again; until it was all burnt off it was a constant menace, for wind-blown seeds and underground leaders seemed to spring up spitefully in the midst of growing lucerne and wheat.  Marcella’s beloved garden had had a struggle against it:  so had Mrs. Twist’s patch of vegetables, so they were all making a gigantic effort to uproot the whole thing and get rid of it.  Across the clearing the fire crackled and blazed and died down to a ruddy glow; in the storeroom Jerry’s gramophone led off with “Oh Dry those Tears,” and the youngsters started to dance.  A new record was put on, because “Oh Dry those Tears” was not conducive; the sound of rhythmically beating feet drew the others towards the ballroom, and Marcella was left on the verandah listening to the barking of some half-dozen dogs, brought by the guests and tied up behind the Homestead.  She knew that the massed force of cups and tumblers was not quite sufficient and decided to wash them before they would be needed for relays of coffee.