May they have been fulfilled a thousand-fold!
Undoubtedly our Christmas dinner was a huge success - from a black
fellow's point of view it was the most sensible thing we Whites had ever
organised; for half the Vealer, another huge pudding, several yards of
sweet currant "brownie,'" a new pipe apiece, and a few pounds of tobacco
had found their way to the "humpy"; and although headaches may have been
in the near future, there was never a heartache among them.
All afternoon we sat and chatted as only the bush-folk can (the bush-folk
are only silent when in uncongenial society), "putting in" a fair amount
of time writing our names on one page of an autograph album; and as
strong brown hands tried their utmost to honour Christmas day with
something decent in the way of writing, each man declared that he had
never written so badly before, while the company murmured: "Oh, yours is
all right. Look at mine!"
Jack, however, was the exception; for when his turn came, with quiet
humour he "thought that on the whole his was a bit better'n last
Christmas," which naturally set us discussing the advantages of
learning; but when we all agreed "it would be a bit off having to employ
a private secretary when you were doing a bit of courting," Jack hastened
to assure us that "courting" would never be in his line - coming events do
not always throw shadows before them.
