he verandah, drinking
claret-and-water, and watching and hoping for a thunderstorm.

On the third of February the heat was worse than ever, but no wind; and
as the sun went down among the lurid smoke, red as blood, I thought I
made out a few brush-shaped white clouds rising in the north.

Jim and I sat there late, not talking much. We knew that if we were to
be burnt out our loss would be very heavy; but we thanked God that even
were we to lose everything it would not be irreparable, and that we
should still be wealthy. Our brood mares and racing stock were our
greatest anxiety. We had a good stack of hay, by which we might keep
them alive for another month, supposing all the grass was burnt; but if
we lost that, our horses would probably die. I said at last,--

"Jim, we may make up our minds to have the run swept. The fire is
burning up now."

"Yes, it is brightening," said he, "but it must be twenty miles off
still, and if it comes down with a gentle wind we shall save the
paddocks and hay. There is a good deal of grass in the lower paddock. I
am glad we had the forethought not to feed it down. Well, fire or no
fire, I shall go to bed."

We went to bed, and, in spite of anxiety, mosquitoes, and heat, I feel
asleep. In the grey morning I was awakened, nearly suffocated, by a
dull continuous roar. It was the wind in the chimney. The north wind,
so long imprisoned, had broke loose, and the boughs were crashing, and
the trees were falling, before the majesty of his wrath.

I ran out, and met James in the verandah. "It's all up," I said. "Get
the women and children into the river, and let the men go up to
windward with the sheep-skins. [Note: Sheep-skins, on sticks, used for
beating out the fire when in short grass.] I'll get on horseback, and
go out and see how the Morgans get on. That obstinate fellow will wish
he had come in now."

Morgan was a stockman of ours, who lived, with a wife and two children,
about eight miles to the northward. We always thought it would have
been better for him to move in, but he had put it off, and now the fire
had taken us by surprise.

I rode away, dead-up wind. Our station had a few large trees about it,
and then all was clear plain and short grass for two miles; after that
came scrubby ranges, in an open glade of which the Morgans' hut stood.
I feared, from the density of the smoke, that the fire had reached them
already, but I thought it my duty to go and see, for I might meet