ing to ride to Yabtree church
next Sunday. It is four miles beyond Five-Bob Downs, so that is sixteen
miles. It is the nearest church. I expect it will be rare fun. There will
be such a crowd coming home, and that always makes the horses
delightfully frisky. (A man wants to put his horses in the paddock for
the night, so I will have to find uncle.) I never saw such a place for
men. It is all men, men, men. You cannot go anywhere outside the house
but you see men coming and going in all directions. It wouldn't do to
undress without bothering to drop the window-blind like we used at Possum
Gully. Grannie and uncle say it is a curse to be living beside the road,
as it costs them a tremendous lot a year. There are seven lemon-trees
here, loaded (another hawker). I hope you think of me sometimes. I am
just as ugly as ever. (A traveller wants to buy a loaf of bread.)

With stacks of love to all at home, and a whole dray-load for yourself,
from your loving sister,

Sybylla.

Remember me to Goulburn, drowsing lazily in its dreamy graceful hollow in
the blue distance.

Caddagat, 29th Sept., 1896

Dear Everard,

Thank you very much for the magazines and "An Australian Bush Track". I
suppose you have quite forgotten us and Caddagat by this time. The sun
has sunk behind the gum-trees, and the blue evening mists are hanging
lazily in the hollows of the hills. I expect you are donning your
"swallow-tail" preparatory to leading some be-satined "faire ladye" in to
a gorgeous dinner, thence to the play, then to a dance probably. No doubt
all around you is bustle, glare of lights, noise, and fun. It is such a
different scene here. From down the road comes the tinkle of camp-bells
and jingle of hobble-chains. From down in that sheltered angle where the
creek meets the river comes the gleam of camp-fires through the gathering
twilight, and I can see several tents rigged for the night, looking like
white specks in the distance.

I long for the time to come when I shall get to Sydney. I'm going to lead
you and aunt Helen a pretty dance. You'll have to keep going night and
day. It will be great. I must get up and dance a jig on the veranda when
I think of it. You'll have to show me everything--slums and all. I want to
find out the truth of heaps of things for myself.

Save for the weird rush of the stream and the kookaburras' goodnight, all
is still, with a mighty far-reaching stillness which can be felt. Now the
curlews are beg