Men there are in plenty out-bush, “not much at religion,” as they and the world judge it, who have solved the great problem of “hoeing their own rows” by the simple process of leaving them to give others a hand with theirs; men loving their neighbours as themselves, and with whom God does the rest, as of old.  “Be still, and know that I am God,” is still whispered out of the heart of Nature, and those bushmen, unconsciously obeying, as unconsciously belong to that great simple-hearted band of worshippers, the Quakers; men who, in the hoeing of their own rows have ever lived their lives in the ungrudging giving of a helping hand to all in need, content that God will see to the rest.

Surely the most scrupulous Quaker could find no fault with the “Divine Meeting” that God was holding that day:  the long, restful preparation of silence; that emptying of all active thought from the mind; that droning Scotch voice, so perfectly tuned to our mood, delivering its message in a language that could pierce to the depths of a bushman’s heart; and then silence again—­a silence now vibrating with thought.  As gradually and naturally as it had crept upon us, that silence slipped away, and we spoke of the multitude of sounds and creatures about us, until, seeing deeper and deeper into Dan’s message every moment, we learned that each sound and creature was hoeing its own row as it alone knew how, and, in the hoeing, was lending all others a hand with theirs, as they toiled in the Mighty Row of the Universe, each obedient to the great law of the Creator that all else shall be left to Him, as through them He taught the world that no man liveth to himself alone.

“You will find that a woman alone in a camp of men is decidedly out of place,” the Darwin ladies had said; and yet that day, as at all times, the woman felt strangely and sweetly in place in the bushmen’s camp.  “A God-forsaken country,” others of the town have called the Never-Never, because the works of men have not yet penetrated into it.  Let them look from their own dark alleys and hideous midnights into some or all of the cattle camps out-bush, or, better still, right into the “poor dark souls’” of the bush-folk themselves—­if their vision is clear enough—­before they judge.

Long before our midnight had come, the camp was sleeping a deep, sound sleep—­those who were not on watch—­a dreamless sleep, for the bullocks were peaceful and ruminating, the Chinese drovers having been “excused” from duty lest other beasts should stray during “some one’s” watch.

Soon after sun-up the head drover formally accepted the mob, and, still inwardly marvelling at the Maluka’s trust, filled in his cheque, and, blandly smiling, watched while the Maluka made out receipts and cancelled the agreement.  Then, to show that he dealt little in simple trust, he carried the receipts and agreement in private and in turn, to Dan, and Jack, and the Dandy, asking each if all were honestly made out.