ther little
Polly had ever spent a more satisfying hour than that which followed.

Her husband, watching her in silent amaze, believed she thoroughly
enjoyed the fuss and commotion.

There was Sarah, too sick to see anything but the bed, to undress, to
make fomentations for, to coax to mouthfuls of tea and toast. There was
Jerry to feed and send off, with the warmest of hugs, to share Tom
Ocock's palliasse. There were the children ... well, Polly's first plan
had been to put them straight to bed. But when she came to peel off
their little trousers she changed her mind.

"I think, Mrs. Hemmerde, if you'll get me a tub of hot water, we'll
just pop them into it; they'll sleep so much better," she said ... not
quite truthfully. Her private reflection was: "I don't think Sarah can
once have washed them properly, all that time."

The little girl let herself be bathed in her sleep; but young John
stood and bawled, digging fat fists into slits of eyes, while Polly
scrubbed at his massy knees, the dimpled ups and downs of which looked
as if they had been worked in by hand. She had never seen her brother's
children before and was as heartily lost in admiration of their plump,
well-formed bodies, as her helper of the costliness of their outfit.

"Real Injun muslin, as I'm alive!" ejaculated the woman, on fishing out
their night-clothes. "An' wid the sassiest lace for trimmin'!--Och, the
poor little motherless angels!--Stan' quiet, you young divil you, an'
lemme button you up!"

Clean as lily-bells, the pair were laid on the mattress-bed.

"At least they can't fall out," said Polly, surveying her work with a
sigh of content.

Every one else having retired, she sat with Richard before the fire,
waiting for his bath-water to reach the boil. He was anxious to know
just how she had fared in his absence, she to hear the full story of
his mission. He confessed to her that his offer to load himself up with
the whole party had been made in a momentary burst of feeling.
Afterwards he had repented his impulsiveness.

"On your account, love. Though when I see how well you've managed--you
dear, clever little woman!"

And Polly consoled him, being now come honestly to the stage of: "But,
Richard, what else could you do?"

"What, indeed! I knew Emma had no relatives in Melbourne, and who
John's intimates might be I had no more idea than the man in the moon."

"John hasn't any friends. He never had."

"As for leaving the children