passengers were the last phenomenon he had expected to see.

"Cripes! What yous want?" he said.

"Are we far from anywhere?" asked Marcella, smiling at him. He spat
assiduously through a knothole in the boarding and looked from her to
Louis.

"Depends on what you call far," he said reflectively. "There's Gaynor's
about fifteen miles along, an' Loose End nigh on thirty. Where yous
makin' for, then?"

"I should say Loose End would suit us, by the sound of it," said Louis
with a laugh. "But it isn't much use starting out to-night."

The stationmaster looked proprietorially towards the station and the
hotel site. There seemed room for tickets, and for the man who sold
them--if he were not a very large man. There was not much hope for
visitors.

"I'm running up a bosker hotel soon's I can get a bit of
weather-boarding and a few nails along," he said hopefully.

"That doesn't solve th-th-the immediate problem," said Louis.

"Let's sleep with half of us in the hotel and half on the platform,"
said Marcella, delighted with the authentic lack of civilization.

"Be et up with h'ants," the driver informed them. "Look here, chum, if
I was you I'd sleep in the train. She don't set off till between seven
and eight to-morrow."

They jumped at the idea, and the stationmaster, suddenly helpful,
offered them the loan of his hut, his spirit lamp, his kerosene tins and
his creek which was half a mile away among a few trees, low-growing,
stunted blue gums.

"Have to have a wash," the stationmaster told himself unhappily, and
suggested the same course to the driver and guard as there was a lady to
dinner. Then he piloted Marcella and Louis to his hut.

It struck a homely note in several ways. The name of Rockefeller came to
them in the flattened out kerosene tins which, nailed to supports,
formed the roof; boxes stencilled with the names of well-known
proprietary English goods formed the walls. Inside was a bed in shape of
a frayed hammock; upturned boxes formed the chairs and there was an
incongruous leather-topped, mahogany-legged writing-table. A kerosene
tin was the toilet apparatus: another, cut in two, was used for boiling
water. Given a supply of kerosene tins in the Bush, one can make a villa
and furnish it, down to cooking utensils and baby's bath.

"Next time's yous happen along, I'll have a bonser hotel," he said, and
leading Marcella outside showed her, under the shade of a tree, a
_cache_ of dozens of eggs laid