.

Above us bare tie-beams and the round sapling rafters (with the bark
still on), and the inner sides of the sheets of stringybark that formed
the roof. The slabs had been lined with sacking at one time, but most
of it had fallen or dry-rotted away; there were wide cracks between the
slabs and we could see the white glare of sunlight outside, with a strip
of dark shade, like a deep trench in the white ground, by the back wall.
Someone had brought a canvas water-bag and hung it to the beam on the
other side of the minister's table, with a pint-pot over the tap, and
the drip, drip from the bag made the whole place seem cooler.

I studied Peter M`Laughlan first. He was dressed in washed and mended
tweed vest and trousers, and had on a long, lightcoloured coat of a
material which we called "Chinese silk." He wore a "soft" cotton shirt
with collar attached, and blucher boots. He gave out a hymn in his
quiet, natural way, said a prayer, gave out another hymn, read a chapter
from the Bible, and then gave out another hymn. They liked to sing, out
in those places. The Southwicks used to bring a cranky little harmonium
in the back of their old dog-cart, and Clara Southwick used to accompany
the hymns. She was a very pretty girl, fair, and could play and sing
well. I used to think she had the sweetest voice I ever heard. But--ah,
well--

Peter didn't sing himself, at first. I got an idea that he couldn't.
While they were singing he stood loosely, with one hand in his
trouser-pocket, scratching his beard with his hymn-book, and looking
as if he were thinking things over, and only rousing himself to give
another verse. He forgot to give it once or twice, but we got through
all right. I noticed the wife of one of the men who had asked Peter to
preach looking rather black at her husband, and I reckoned that he'd get
it hotter than the weather on the way home.

Then Peter stood up and commenced to preach. He stood with both hands in
his pockets, at first, his coat ruffled back, and there was the stem of
a clay pipe sticking out of his waistcoat pocket. The pipe fascinated me
for a while, but after that I forgot the pipe and was fascinated by the
man. Peter's face was one that didn't strike you at first with its
full strength, it grew on you; it grew on me, and before he had done
preaching I thought it was the noblest face I had ever seen.

He didn't preach much of hope in this world. How could he? The drought
had been blazing ove