the south folk.  And as we stood, with our horses’ bridles over our arms and the horses nibbling at the sweet grasses, in touch with the world in spite of our isolation, a gorgeous butterfly rested for a brief space on the tiny instrument, with gently swaying purple wings, and away in the great world men were sending telegrams amid clatter and dust, unconscious of that tiny group of bushfolk, or that Nature, who does all things well, can beautify even the sending of a telegram.

In the heart of the bush we stood yet listening to the clatter of the townsfolk, for, business over, the little clicking instrument was gossiping cheerily with us—­the telegraph wire in the Territory being such a friendly wire.  Daily it gathers gossip, and daily whispers it up and down the line, and daily news and gossip fly hither and thither:  who’s “inside,” who has gone out, whom to expect, where the mailman is, the newest arrival in Darwin and the latest rainfall at Powell’s Creek.

Daily the telegraph people hear all the news of the Territory, and in due course give the news to the public, when the travellers gathering it, carry it out to the bushfolk, scattering it broadcast, until everybody knows every one else, and all his business and where it has taken him; and because of that knowledge, and in spite of those hundreds of thousands of square miles of bushland, the people of the Territory are held together in one great brotherhood.

Among various items of news the little instrument told us that Dan was “packing up for the return trip”; and in a day or two he came in, bringing a packet of garden seeds and a china teapot from Mine Host, Southern letters from the telegraph, and, from little Johnny, news that he was getting tools together and would be along in no time.

Being in one of his whimsical moods, Dan withheld congratulations.

“I’ve been thinking things over, boss,” he said, assuming his most philosophical manner “and I reckon any more rooms’ll only interfere with getting the missus educated.”

Later on he used the servant question to hang his argument on.  “Just proves what I was saying” he said.  “If the cleaning of one room causes all this trouble and worry, where’ll she be when she’s got four to look after?  What with white ants, and blue mould, and mildew, and wrestling with lubras, there won’t be one minute to spare for education.”

He also professed disapproval of the Maluka’s devices for making the homestead more habitable.  “If this goes on we’ll never learn her nothing but loafin’”, he declared when he found that a couple of yards of canvas and a few sticks had become a comfortable lounge chair.  “Too much luxury!” and he sat down on his own heels to show how he scorned luxuries.  A tree sawn into short lengths to provide verandah seats for all comers he passed over as doubtful.  He was slightly reassured however, when he heard that my revolver practice had not been neglected, and condescended