For hours we pitched near the restful green of the melon-beds, and as we pitched the Maluka ran fencing wires through two sides of the garden fence, while Tiddle’ums and Bett-Bett, hovering about him, adapted themselves to the new order of things, finding the line the goats had to stop at no longer imaginary.  And as the fence grew, Dan lent a hand here and there, the rejected and the staff indulged in glorious washing-days among the lilies of the Reach; Cheon haunted the vegetable patch like a disconsolate ghost; while Billy Muck, the rainmaker, hovered bat-like over his melons, lending a hand also with the fence when called upon.  As Cheon mourned, his garden also mourned, but when the melons began to mourn, at the Maluka’s suggestion, Billy visited the Reach with two buckets, and his usual following of dogs, and after a two-mile walk gave the melons a drink.

Next day Billy Muck pressed old Jimmy into the service and, the Reach being visited twice, the melons received eight buckets of water Then Cheon tried every wile he knew to secure four buckets for his garden.  “Only four,” he pleaded, lavish in his bribes.  But Billy and Jimmy had “knocked up longa a carry water,” and Cheon watched them settle down to smoke, on the verge of tears.  Then a traveller coming in with the news that heavy ram had fallen in Darwin—­news gleaned from the gossiping wire—­Cheon was filled with jealous fury at the good fortune of Darwin, and taunted Billy with rain-making taunts.  “If he were a rain-maker,” he taunted, “he would make a little when he wanted it, instead of walking miles with buckets,” and the taunts rankling in Billy’s royal soul, he retired to the camp to see about it.

“Hope he does the trick,” the traveller said, busy unpacking his team.  “Could do with a good bath fairly soon.”  But Dan cautioned him to “have a care,” settling down in the shade to watch proceedings.  “These early showers are a bit tricky,” he explained, “can’t tell how long they’ll last.  Heard of a chap once who reckoned it was good enough for a bath, but by the time he’d got himself nicely soaped the shower was travelling on ten miles a minute, and there wasn’t another drop of rain for a fortnight, which wasn’t too pleasant for the prickly heat.”

The homestead rubbed its back in sympathy against the nearest upright, and Dan added that “of course the soap kept the mosquitoes dodged a bit,” which was something to be thankful for.  “There generally is something to be thankful for, if you only reckon it out,” he assured all.  But the traveller, reduced to a sweltering prickliness by his exertions, wasn’t “noticing much at present,” as he rubbed his back in his misery against the saddle of the horse he was unpacking.  Then his horse, shifting its position, trod on his foot; and as he hopped round, nursing his stinging toes, Dan found an illustration for his argument.  “Some chaps,” he said, “’ud be thankful to have toes to be trod on”; and ducking to avoid a coming missile, he added cheerfully,