ger than Unionism; and, when the hearse presently
arrived, more than two-thirds of the funeral were unable to follow.

The procession numbered fifteen, fourteen souls following the broken
shell of a soul. Perhaps not one of the fourteen possessed a soul any
more than the corpse did--but that doesn't matter.

Four or five of the funeral, who were boarders at the pub, borrowed a
trap which the landlord used to carry passengers to and from the railway
station. They were strangers to us who were on foot, and we to them. We
were all strangers to the corpse.

A horseman, who looked like a drover just returned from a big trip,
dropped into our dusty wake and followed us a few hundred yards,
dragging his packhorse behind him, but a friend made wild and
demonstrative signals from a hotel veranda--hooking at the air in front
with his right hand and jobbing his left thumb over his shoulder in the
direction of the bar--so the drover hauled off and didn't catch up to us
any more. He was a stranger to the entire show.

We walked in twos. There were three twos. It was very hot and dusty;
the heat rushed in fierce dazzling rays across every iron roof and
light-coloured wall that was turned to the sun. One or two pubs closed
respectfully until we got past. They closed their bar doors and the
patrons went in and out through some side or back entrance for a few
minutes. Bushmen seldom grumble at an inconvenience of this sort, when
it is caused by a funeral. They have too much respect for the dead.

On the way to the cemetery we passed three shearers sitting on the shady
side of a fence. One was drunk--very drunk. The other two covered their
right ears with their hats, out of respect for the departed--whoever he
might have been--and one of them kicked the drunk and muttered something
to him.

He straightened himself up, stared, and reached helplessly for his hat,
which he shoved half off and then on again. Then he made a great effort
to pull himself together--and succeeded. He stood up, braced his back
against the fence, knocked off his hat, and remorsefully placed his foot
on it--to keep it off his head till the funeral passed.

A tall, sentimental drover, who walked by my side, cynically quoted
Byronic verses suitable to the occasion--to death--and asked with
pathetic humour whether we thought the dead man's ticket would be
recognized "over yonder." It was a G.L.U. ticket, and the general
opinion was that it would be recognized.