"'Tisn't too bad," he said, suddenly aware of the beauty of the
scene, and then the tradesman came to the surface. "I reckon MY job'll
be a bit more on the plumb, though," he chuckled, and, delighted with his
little joke, shouldered his axe and walked towards one of the marked
trees, while Dan speculated aloud on the chances a man had of "getting
off alive" if a tree fell on him.
"Trees don't fall on a man that knows how to handle timber," the
unsuspecting Johnny said briskly; and as Dan feared that "fever was her
only chance then," he spat on his hands, and, sending the axe home into
the bole of the tree with a clean, swinging stroke, laid the
foundation-stone - the foundation-stone of a tiny home in the wilderness,
that was destined to be the dwellingplace of great joy, and happiness,
and sorrow.
The Sanguine Scot had prophesied rightly. There being "time enough for
everything in the Never-Never," there was time for "many pleasant rides
along the Reach, choosing trees for timber."
But the rides were the least part of the pleasure. For the time being,
the silent Reach forest had become the hub of our little universe. All
was life and bustle and movement there. Every day fresh trees were
felled and chopping contests entered into by Johnny and the Dandy; and as
the trees fell in quick succession, black boys and lubras armed with
tomahawks, swarmed over them, to lop away the branches, before the trunks
were dragged by the horses to the mouth of the sawpit.
