Starlight. Warrigal's mother, or aunt or something, was the gin
that showed it to the first white men.'

* A black woman.

Chapter 7

It was pretty late that night when we got home, and poor mother and
Aileen were that glad to see us that they didn't ask too many questions.
Mother would sit and look at the pair of us for ever so long without
speaking, and then the tears would come into her eyes and she'd turn
away her head.

The old place looked very snug, clean, and comfortable, too, after all
the camping-out, and it was first-rate to have our own beds again. Then
the milk and fresh butter, and the eggs and bacon--my word! how Jim did
lay in; you'd have thought he was goin' on all night.

'By George! home's a jolly place after all,' he said. 'I am going to
stay ever so long this time, and work like an old near-side poler--see
if I don't. Let's look at your hands, Aileen; my word, you've been doin'
your share.'

'Indeed, has she,' said mother. 'It's a shame, so it is, and her with
two big brothers, too.'

'Poor Ailie,' said Jim, 'she had to take an axe, had she, in her pretty
little hands; but she didn't cut all that wood that's outside the door
and I nearly broke my neck over, I'll go bail.'

'How do you know?' says she, smiling roguish-like. 'All the world might
have been here for what you'd been the wiser--going away nobody knows
where, and coming home at night like--like----'

'Bush-rangers,' says I. 'Say it out; but we haven't turned out yet, if
that's what you mean, Miss Marston.'

'I don't mean anything but what's kind and loving, you naughty boy,'
says she, throwing her arms about my neck; 'but why will you break our
hearts, poor mother's and mine, by going off in such a wild way and
staying away, as if you were doing something that you were ashamed of?'

'Women shouldn't ask questions,' I said roughly. 'You'll know time
enough, and if you never know, perhaps it's all the better.'

Jim was alongside of mother by this time, lying down like a child on the
old native dogskin rug that we tanned ourselves with wattle bark. She
had her hand on his hair--thick and curly it was always from a child.
She didn't say anything, but I could see the tears drip, drip down from
her face; her head was on Jim's shoulder, and by and by he put his arms
round her neck. I went off to bed, I remember, and left them to it.

Next morning Jim and I were up at sunrise and got in the milkers, as we
always did