Besides, snakes are such loathsome beasts."

"How would it do, then, to give a big Christmas feast to the blacks?" he
hazarded.

"Do you think she would like that?" I asked doubtfully. "Remember how
awfully dirty and savage-looking they are."

"Oh, we would try and get them to clean up a bit, and come somewhat
presentable," he cheerfully replied. "And, Dora," he continued, "I think
the idea is a good one. Sister Maggie is the Hon. Secretary or something
of the Missionary Society connected with her Church, and in the thick of
all the 'soup and blanket clubs' of the district. She will just revel at
the chance of administering to the needs of genuine savages."

"If you think so, you had better try and get the feast up," I resignedly
replied; "but I do wish our savages were a little less filthy."

Such was the origin of our Christmas feast to the blacks last year, of
which I am about to tell you.

My husband, John MacKenzie, was the manager and part proprietor of a
large sheep-station in the Murchison district of Western Australia, and
sister Maggie was his favourite sister. A severe attack of pneumonia had
left her so weak that the doctors advised a sea voyage to Australia, to
recuperate her strength--a proposition which she hailed with delight, as
it would give her the opportunity of seeing her brother in his West
Australian home. My husband, of course, was delighted at the prospect of
seeing her again, while I too welcomed the idea of meeting my Scottish
sister-in-law, with whom I had much charming correspondence, but had
never met face to face.

As the above conversation shows, my husband's chief care was to make his
sister's visit bright and enjoyable--no easy task in the lonely
back-blocks where our station was, and where the dreary loneliness and
deadly monotony of the West Australian bush reaches its climax. Miles
upon miles of uninteresting plains, covered with the usual gums and
undergrowth, surrounded us on all sides; beautiful, indeed, in early
spring, when the wealth of West Australian wild flowers--unsurpassed for
loveliness by those of any other country--enriched the land, but at
other times painfully unattractive and monotonous.

Except kangaroos, snakes, and lizards, animal life was a-wanting. Bird
and insect life, too, was hardly to be seen, and owing to the absence of
rivers and lakes, aquatic life was unknown.

The silent loneliness of the bush is so oppressive and depressing that
men new to s