as
dry. And, what was unusual, Dave, the easy-going, took a notion to
spruce himself up. He wandered restlessly from one room to another,
robed in a white shirt which was n't starched or ironed, trying hard to
fix a collar to it. He had n't worn the turn-out for a couple of years,
and, of course, had grown out of it, but this did n't seem to strike
him. He tugged and fumbled till he lost patience; then he sat on the
bed and railed at the women, and wished that the shirt and the collar,
and the church-service and the parson, were in Heaven. Mother offered
to fasten the collar, but when she took hold of it--forgetting that her
hands were covered with dough and things--Dave flew clean off the
handle! And when Sal advised him to wear his coloured shirt, same as
Dad was going to do, and reminded him that Mary Anderson might n't come
at all, he aimed a pillow at her and knocked Little Bill under the
table, and scattered husks all over the floor. Then he fled to the
barn and refused dinner.

Mid-day, and Dad's pants not found. We searched inside and outside and
round about the pig-sty, and the hay-stack, and the cow-yard; and eyed
the cows, and the pet kangaroo, and the draught-horses with suspicion;
but saw nothing of the pants. Dad was angry, but had to make the most
of an old pair of Dave's through the legs of which Dad thrust himself a
lot too far. Mother and Sal said he looked well enough in them, but
laughed when he went outside.

The people commenced to arrive on horseback and in drays. The women
went on to the verandah with their babies; the men hung round outside
and waited. Some sat under the peach-tree and nibbled sticks and
killed green-heads; others leant against the fence; while a number
gathered round the pig-sty and talked about curing bacon.

The parson came along. All of them stared at him; watched him unsaddle
his horse and hunt round for a place to fasten the beast. They
regarded the man in the long black coat with awe and wonder.

Everything was now ready, and, when Dad carried in the side-boards of
the dray and placed them on boxes for seat accommodation, the clergyman
awaited his congregation, which had collected at the back-door.
Anderson stepped in; the rest followed, timid-looking, and stood round
the room till the clergyman motioned them to sit. They sat and watched
him closely.

"We'll now join in singing hymn 499," said the parson, commencing to
sing himself. The congregation l