"larstins" (elastic-side boots), slop suits
of black, bound with braid, and with coats too short in the neck and
arms, and trousers bell-mouthed at the bottoms, and some with paper
collars, narrow red ribbon ties, or scarfs through walnut shells, held
their partners rigidly, and went round the room with their eyes--most of
them--cocked at the rafters in semi-idiotic ecstasy.

But there was tall, graceful, pink-and-white Bertha Buckolt, blue-eyed
and blue-black-haired, and little Mary Carey with the kind, grey eyes
and red-gold hair; there was Mary's wild brother Jim, with curly black
hair and blue eyes and dimples of innocence; and there was Harry Dale,
the drover, Jim's shearing and droving mate, a tall, good-looking,
brown-eyed and brown-haired young fellow, a "better-class" bushman and
the best dancer in the district. Uncle Abel usurped the position of
M.C., and roared "Now then! take yer partners!" and bawled instructions
and interrupted and tangled up the dancers, until they got used to
taking no notice of his bull voice. Mary Carey was too shy--because she
loved him, and secretly and fondly hoped and doubted that he cared for
her--to be seen dancing more than once with Harry Dale, so he shared
Bertha Buckolt, the best girl dancer there, with Jim Carey, who danced
with his sister when Harry was dancing with Bertha Buckolt, and who
seemed, for some reason best known to himself, to be perfectly satisfied
with the arrangement. Poor little Mary began to fret presently, and
feel a little jealous of Bertha, her old schoolmate. She was little
and couldn't dance like Bertha, and she couldn't help noticing how well
Bertha looked to-night, and what a well-matched pair she and Harry made;
and so, when twelve o'clock came and they all went outside to watch
the Old Year out and the New Year in--with a big bonfire on the distant
ridge where the grass fires had reached a stretch of dry scrub--and to
join hands all round and sing "Auld Lang Syne," little Mary was not to
be found, for she was sitting on a log round behind the cow-yard, crying
softly to herself.

And when about three o'clock they all started home, Mary gave Bertha her
cheek to kiss instead of her mouth, and that hurt Bertha, who had _her_
cry riding home, to the astonishment and irritation of her brother Jack,
who rode home with her. But when they were all gone Mary was missing
again and when her mother called her, and, after a pause, the voice of
Harry Dale said,