the picket was having a busy time answering questions:
"Could you tell me where I will find Private McIntosh?" "What tent is
my brother in, d'you know?" But as many of the eager questioners were,
well, very delightful, none of the boys on picket duty kicked at their
job. Some of the boys who were quicker dressers than the others now
began to come down to the gate, bustling into the crowd of womenfolk,
looking eagerly for their own particular visitors, and, seeing them,
dashing up, hugging mothers and sisters, shaking bashfully the hand of
"sister's friend," gathering up all their parcels, and, with them all
following close behind, leading the way to "a dandy spot" for supper.
In course of time the sorting-out process was complete, and the camp
was dotted with hundreds of groups, large and small, all laughing and
talking, and busy unpacking those very weighty parcels. Boys who had
changed into uniform with the others and gone down to the gate, though
not really expecting any one as they were from out back and had no city
friends, but still feeling lonesome, and, perhaps, having a forlorn
hope that there might be some one, had helped rather bewildered girls,
carrying their baskets and finding the man they wanted--these boys now
looked longingly around at these groups, hoping some one would invite
them to join in; and how their faces brightened when one of their
tentmates, looking up from a hunk of frosted cake, would see them and
shout, "Hey, Bill! Here!" and, after the agony of being presented to
"My mater, my sister, and Miss Stephenson," things were just O. K.

Yet there were a good many lonely ones, boys who hadn't even bothered
to change, still in their ill-shaped blue dungarees, dusty boots, and
cloth hats, some of them walking round, their heads down, and kicking
at every clump of grass or stone that came within reach of their
boots--some of them, too lonely even to look at the fun, hanging over
the fences, occasionally exchanging a few peevish words with each
other, while others gathered round the old man who kept a stall just
inside the gate and bought lemonade, ginger ale, and arrowroot
biscuits, consuming them with much assumed gusto, while others still
sat inside their tents or the Y. M. C. A. hut.

Looking at these boys gave one a deep heartache, but the sob in one's
throat changed suddenly to a laugh as one looked at their hats.
Americans in Australia have always held the prize for originality in
headge