d the rock-flank of the hummock, Moongarr Bill brought
fried steak and potatoes steaming in a clean tin dish and done to a
turn, then went to cook more for himself at his own camp. They ate off
the bark plates. Salt, sugar and mustard came out of small ration bags.
McKeith produced black-handled knives and forks--the last a concession.
And good to taste were the fizzling johnny-cakes and the strong, sweet,
milkless tea.

Such was Lady Bridget's real marriage feast.

They were hungry, yet they dallied over the repast. It was the most
delicious food she had ever tasted, Bridget said. They made little
jokes. He was entranced by her happiness. Joyously she compared this
banquet with others she had eaten in great houses and European
restaurants, which were the last word in luxury. Oh! how she loved the
dramatic contrast of it. Nature was supreme, glorious.... Oh no, no!
never could she hanker after that which she had left behind--for ever.
Because, if ever she were to go back again to the old life, she would
be an ugly dried-up old woman for whom the smart world would have no
further use....

Then suddenly she became quiet, and busied herself in the tent, while
McKeith took out his pipe and smoked in ruminative bliss. When she came
back she had no more talk of contrasts or of her old life, no more
fantastic outbursts. Indeed, there seemed to have come over her a mood
of sweet sobriety, of blushing, womanly shyness.

'Mayn't I be your squaw and help you to wash up?' she said, when he
collected the tin pots and pannikins and proceeded to get the camp
shipshape. No, she was not to stir a finger towards the dirty work. It
was HIS job to-night. Another camping-out time she might play the squaw
if she liked. She was not on in this act.

He amused her greatly by his tidy bush methods. The billies were
refilled, the ration-bags laid ready for the morning.

Now darkness had fallen. He put more logs on the fire, and the flames
blazed up. Then he made up a little pile of johnny-cakes that he had
not buttered, and covered it with the bark plates. 'We shall have to
make an early start, and there'll be no time to bake fresh ones--and no
more use for these things,' he said. The square of bark on which he had
mixed the dough was in his hands and he was about the fling it among
the bushes, but she stopped him.

'No--don't throw it away.... I--I want it for a keepsake, Colin.'

He stared at her in surprise. The red flames threw a str