"Bunday!" he exclaimed at the finish, showing he had fully
grasped the situation. Of course he knew all about Bunday! Wasn't it so
many weeks after the Chinaman's New Year festival? And in a jargon of
pidgin-English he swept aside all moon discussions, and fixed the date of
"Bunday" for the twenty-eighth of March, "which," as Dan wisely remarked,
"proved that somebody was right," but whether the Maluka or the Dandy, or
the moon, he forgot to specify. "The old heathen to beat us all too," he
added, "just when it had got us all dodged." Dan took all the credit of
the suggestion to himself. Then he looked philosophically on the
toughness of the problem: "Anyway," he said, "the missus must have learnt
a bit about beginning at the beginning of things. Just think what she'd
have missed if any one had known when Easter was right off!"
"What she'd have missed indeed. Exactly what the townsman misses, as long
as he remains in a land where everything can be known right off."
But a new idea had come to Dan. "Of course," he said, "as far as that
goes, if Johnny does turn up she ought to learn a thing or two, while
he's moving the dining-room up the house"; and he decided to welcome
Johnny on his return.
He had not long to wait, for in a day or two Johnny rode into the
homestead, followed by a black boy carrying a cross-cut saw. This time he
hailed us with a cheery:
"NOW we shan't be long."
CHAPTER X
It had taken over six weeks to "get hold of little Johnny "; but as the
Dandy had prophesied, once he started, he "made things hum in no time."
"Now we shan't be long," he said, flourishing a tape measure; and the
Dandy was kept busy for half a day, "wrestling with the calculating."
That finished, the store was turned inside out and a couple of "boys"
sent in for "things needed," and after them more "boys" for more things;
and then other "boys" for other things, until travellers must have
thought the camp blacks had entered into a walking competition. When
everything necessary was ordered, "all hands" were put on to sharpen saws
and tools, and the homestead shrieked and groaned all day with harsh,
discordant raspings. Then a camp was pitched in the forest, a mile or so
from the homestead; a sawpit dug, a platform erected, and before a week
had passed an invitation was issued, for the missus to "come and see a
tree felled." "Laying thee foundation-stone," the Maluka called it.
Johnny of course welcomed us with a jovial "Now we shan't be long," and
shouldering a tomahawk, led the way out of the camp into the timber.
House-hunting in town does not compare favourably with timber-hunting for
a house, in a luxuriant tropical forest. Sheltered from the sun and heat
we wandered about in the feathery undergrowth, while the Maluka tested
the height of the giant timber above us with shots from his bull-dog
revolver bringing down twigs and showers of leaves from the topmost
branches, and sending flocks of white cockatoos up into the air with
squawks of amazement.
Tree after tree was chosen and marked with the tomahawk, each one
appearing taller and straighter and more beautiful than any of its
fellows until, finding ourselves back at the camp, Johnny went for his
axe and left us to look at the beauty around us.
"Seems a pity to spoil all this, just to make four walls to shut the
missus in from anything worth looking at," Dan murmured as Johnny
reappeared. "They won't make anything as good as this up at the house."
Johnny the unpoetical hesitated, perplexed. Philosophy was not in his
line. "'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. Every one was
happy and light-hearted, and the work went merrily forward, until a great
pile of tree-trunks lay ready for the sawpit.
Then a new need arose: Johnny wanted several yards of strong string, and
a "sup" of ink, to make guiding lines on the timber for his saw; but as
only sewing cotton was forthcoming, and the Maluka refused to part with
one drop of his precious ink, we were obliged to go down to the beginning
of things once more:
