d to linger a
moment out of doors that lovely tempting evening. F---- and the driver
of the cart, who had some important part to take in the morrow's
proceedings (I forget exactly what), soon tossed out my little stores,
which looked very insignificant as they lay in a heap in the verandah,
and departed to see that all was in train for next day's work. I had
no time to enjoy the evening's soft beauty: the beds had to be made;
clothes to be unpacked and hung up; stores must be arranged on the
shelves in the sitting-room,--for the house only consisted of two small
rooms in front, with a wide verandah, and a sort of lean-to at the back,
which was divided into a small kitchen and store-room. This last was
empty. I confess I thought rather regretfully of my pretty, comfortable,
English-looking bed-room at the other house, with its curtains and
carpet, its wardrobes and looking-glasses, when I found myself surveying
the scene of my completed labours. Two station _bunks_,--i.e., wooden
bed-frames of the simplest and rudest construction, with a sacking
bottom,--a couple of empty boxes, one for a dressing-table and the
other for a wash-stand, a tin basin and a bucket of water, being the
paraphernalia of the latter, whilst some nails behind the door served
to hang our clothes on, such was my station bedroom and all my own doing
too! Certainly it looked uncomfortable enough to satisfy any one, but
I would not have complained of it for the world, lest I might have been
ordered home directly.

Hard as was my bed that night, I slept soundly, and it appeared only
five minutes before I heard a tremendous noise outside the verandah.
The bleating of hundreds of sheep announced that the mob were slowly
advancing, before a perfect army of men and dogs, up to the sheep yards.
What a din they all made! F---- was wide awake, and up in a moment. I,
anxious to show _why_ I had insisted on coming over, got up too, and
made my way into the little kitchen, where I found a charming surprise
awaiting me in the shape of some faggots of neatly-stacked wood, cut
into exactly, the right lengths for the American stove; and also a heap
of dry Menuka bushes, which make the best touchwood for lighting fires
in the whole world. The tiny kitchen and stove were both scrupulously
clean, and so were my three saucepans and kettle. This had been, of
course, my maids' doing, but the fuel was a delicate little attention
on Pepper's part. How he blushed and grinned w