Jack, under the influence of another tot, was in a fit state to sit down
to a table something like a Christian, instead of coming to his food
like a beaten dog.

The hum of bush common-places went on. One of the boys fell across the
bed and into deep slumber; the other watched on awhile, but must have
dozed.

When he was next aware, he saw, through the cracks, the taller man
putting on his dried coat by the fire; then he went to a rough "sofa" at
the side of the kitchen, where the young man was sleeping--with his head
and shoulders curled in to the wall and his arm over his face, like a
possum hiding from the light--and touched him on the shoulder.

"Come on, Jack," he said, "wake up."

Jack sprang to his feet with a blundering rush, grappled with his mate,
and made a break for the door.

"It's all right, Jack," said the other, gently yet firmly, holding and
shaking him. "Go in with the boss and get into your own clothes--we've
got to make a start." The other came to himself and went inside quietly
with the settler. The dark man stretched himself, crossed the kitchen
and looked down at the sleeping child; he returned to the fire without
comment. The wildness had left his eyes. The bushwoman was busy putting
some tucker in a sugar-bag. "There's tea and sugar and salt in these
mustard tins, and they won't get wet," she said, "and there's some
butter too; but I don't know how you'll manage about the bread--I've
wrapped it up, but you'll have to keep it dry as well as you can."

"Thank you, missus, but that'll be all right. I've got a bit of
oil-cloth," he said.

They spoke lamely for a while, against time; then the bushwoman touched
the spring, and their voices became suddenly low and earnest as they
drew together. The stranger spoke as at a funeral, but the funeral was
his own.

"I don't care about myself so much," he said, "for I'm tired of it,
and--and--for the matter of that I'm tired of everything; but I'd like
to see poor Jack right, and I'll try to get clear myself, for his sake.
You've seen him. I can't blame myself, for I took him from a life that
was worse than jail. You know how much worse than animals some brutes
treat their children in the bush. And he was an 'adopted.' You know what
that means. He was idiotic with ill-treatment when I got hold of him.
He's sensible enough when away with me, and true as steel. He's about
the only living human thing I've got to care for, or to care for me, and
I w