t to be considered gods in their own homes;
you'll generally find that sort of men very small potatoes outside; if
they weren't they wouldn't bother so much about being cocks on their own
little dunghills.... And again, old mates seldom quarrel, because they
understand each other's moods. Now, if you went brooding round for any
length of time I'd say to you. `Now then, Harry, what have I been doing
to you? Spit it out, old man.' And you'd do the same by me; but how many
men would take even that much trouble with their wives?"

A breeze stirred the mulga and brought the sound of a good voice singing
in the surveyors' camp:

Should old acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to min'?
Should old acquaintance be forgot
And the days of Auld Lang Syne?

"That damned old tune will upset the Oracle for the rest of the night,"
I said.

"Now, there's the Oracle," said Mitchell. "He was wronged by a woman as
few men are wronged; his life was ruined--but he isn't the man to take
any stock in sex problems on account of her. He thinks he's great on
problems, but he isn't. It all amounts to this--that he's sorry for most
men and all women and tries to act up to it to the best of his ability;
and if he ain't a Christian, God knows what is--I don't. No matter
what a woman does to you, or what you think she does to you, there come
times, sooner or later, when you feel sorry for her--deep down in your
heart--that is if you're a man. And, no matter what action or course you
might take against her, and no matter how right or justified you might
seem in doing it, there comes a time when, deep down in your heart,
you feel mean and doubtful about your own part. You can take that as
a general thing as regards men against women, and man against man, I
think. And I believe that deep-down feeling of being doubtful, or mean,
or sorry, that comes afterwards, when you are cooler and know more about
the world, is a right and natural thing, and we ought to act more in
accordance with it."

Came the refrain from the surveyors' camp:

We twa hae run about the braes,
An' pu'd the gowans fine;
But we've wandered mony a weary foot
Sin' Auld Lang Syne.

"We feel sorry for our quarrels with our worst enemy when we see him
lying still and quiet--dead. Why can't we try and feel a bit sorry
beforehand?"

For Auld Lang Syne.
We twa ha' padl't i' the burn,
Fra mornin' sun till dine;
But