patch in the creek bed, and
once there had been several tall white gums; but old Durham had cut them
down years ago, when first he settled there, and so from the hut door,
though almost close upon the creek, it was not visible, and there was
presented to the eye an unbroken expanse of salt bush. It was unbroken
but for the mirage that quivered in the dry, hot air. The lake of
shining water, with the ferns and trees reflected in it, was but a
phantasy, and the girl who leaned idly against the door-post of the
hut knew it. Still she looked at it wistfully--it had been so hot, so
cruelly hot, this burning January day, and in all the wide plain that
stretched away for miles on every side there was not a particle of
shade; even the creek ran north and south, so that the hot sun sought
out every nook and corner, and the bark-roofed hut, with its few
tumble-down outbuildings, was uncompromisingly hot, desolate, and ugly.

Old Durham called himself a squatter, and gave out that his wife, with
the help of her granddaughter Nellie, kept an accommodation-house. Forty
years ago the times were wild, and what did it matter. Convict and thief
the squatters round called him, and his grandsons, in their opinion,
were the most accomplished cattle-duffers in all the country round, and
as for the accommodation-house--well, if the old woman did go in for sly
grog-selling, the police were a long way off, and it was no business of
anybody's. And Nellie Durham was a pretty girl, a little simple perhaps,
but still sweetly pretty, with those wistful blue eyes, fringed with
dark lashes, that looked out at you so earnestly, and the wealth of
fair hair. So dainty and so pretty--the coarse cotton gown was quite
forgotten, and in those times, when women of any sort were scarce,
many a man turned out of his way just to speak a word or two to Mother
Durham's granddaughter.

She sat down on the door-step now, and resting her elbows on her knees,
and her chin in her hands, looked out across the plain. The sun was just
setting--a fiery, glowing sun, that sent long, level beams right across
the plains, till they reached her hair, and turned it to living gold,
and went on and penetrated the gloom of the hut beyond.

It was very bare, the hut, just as bare as it could possibly be; but
three men bent eagerly over the rough-hewn table, while an old woman,
worn and wrinkled and haggard, and yet in whose face might still be
traced a ghastly resemblance to the