Nellie had brought to the homestead her bosom friend and crony, Biddy, and the staff had increased to five.  It would have numbered six, only Maudie, discovering that the house was infested with debbil-debbils, had resigned and “gone bush.”  The debbil-debbils were supposed to haunt the Maluka’s telescope, for Maudie, on putting her eye to the sight opening, to find out what interested the Maluka so often, had found the trees on the distant plain leaping towards her.

“Debbil-debbil, sit down,” she screamed, as, flinging the telescope from her in a frenzy of fear, she found the distance still and composed,

“No more touch him, missus!” she shrieked, as I stooped to pick up the telescope. “’Spose you touch him, all about there come on quick fellow.  Me bin see him!  My word him race!”

After many assurances, I was allowed to pick it up, Maudie crouching in a shuddering heap the while behind the office, to guard against surprises.  Next morning she applied for leave of absence and “went bush.”  Jimmy’s Nellie, however, was not so easily scared, and after careful investigation treated herself to a pleasant half hour with the telescope.

“Tree all day walk about,” she said, explaining the mystery to the staff; and the looking-glass speedily lost in favour.  The telescope proved full of delights.  But although it was a great sight to see a piccaninny “come on big-fellow,” nothing could compare with the joy of looking through the reversed end of the glass, into a world where great men became “little fellow,” unless it were the marvel of watching dim, distant specks as they took on the forms of birds, beasts, or men.

The waggons gone, and with them Nellie’s shyness, she quietly ousted Rosy from her position at the head of the staff.  “Me sit down first time,” she said; and happy, smiling Rosy, retiring, obeyed orders as willingly as she had given them.  With Nellie and Rosy at the head of affairs, house-cleaning passed unnoticed, and although, after the arrival of unlimited changes of everything, washing-day threatened to become a serious business, they coped with that difficulty by continuing to live in a cycle of washing days—­every alternate day only, though, so as to leave time for gardening.

The gardening staff, which consisted of a king, an heir-apparent, and a royal councillor, had been engaged to wheel barrow-loads of rich loamy soil from the billabong to the garden beds; but as its members preferred gossiping in the shade to work of any kind, the gardening took time and supervision.

“That’ll do, Gadgerrie?” was the invariable question after each load, as the staff prepared to sit down for a gossip; and “Gadgerrie” had to start every one afresh, after deciding whose turn it was to ride back to the billabong in the barrow.

Six loads in a morning was a fair record, for “Gadgerrie” was not often disinclined for a gossip on court matters, but although nothing was done while we were out-bush, the garden was gradually growing.