Then the introductions over, the Maluka said: "Ann, now I suppose she may
consider herself just 'One of Us.'"
CHAPTER VI
The homestead, standing half-way up the slope that rose from the
billabong, had, after all, little of that "down-at-heels, anything'll-do"
appearance that Mac had so scathingly described. No one could call it a
"commodious station home," and it was even patched up and shabby; but,
for all that, neat and cared for. An orderly little array of one-roomed
buildings, mostly built of sawn slabs, and ranged round a broad oblong
space with a precision that suggested the idea of a section of a street
cut out from some neat compact little village.
The cook's quarters, kitchens, men's quarters, store, meat-house, and
waggon-house, facing each other on either side of this oblong space,
formed a short avenue-the main thoroughfare of the homestead - the centre
of which was occupied by an immense wood-heap, the favourite gossiping
place of some of the old black fellows, while across the western end of
it, and looking down it, but a little aloof from the rest of the
buildings, stood the house, or, rather, as much of it as had been rebuilt
after the cyclone of 1897. As befitted their social positions the forge
and black boys' "humpy" kept a respectful distance well round the
south-eastern corner of this thoroughfare; but, for some unknown reason,
the fowl-roosts had been erected over Sam Lee's sleeping-quarters. That
comprised this tiny homestead of a million and a quarter acres, with the
Katherine Settlement a hundred miles to the north of it, one neighbour
ninety miles to the east, another, a hundred and five to the south, and
others about two hundred to the west.
Unfortunately, Mac's description of the House had been only too correct.
With the exception of the one roughly finished room at its eastern end,
it was "mostly verandahs and promises."
After the cyclone had wrecked the building, scattering timber and sheets
of iron in all directions, everything had lain exactly where it had
fallen for some weeks, at the mercy of the wind and weather. At the end
of those weeks a travelling Chinese carpenter arrived at the station with
such excellent common-sense ideas of what a bush homestead should be,
that he had been engaged to rebuild it.
His plans showed a wide-roofed building, built upon two-foot piles, with
two large centre rooms opening into each other and surrounded by a deep
verandah on every side; while two small rooms, a bathroom and an office,
were to nestle each under one of the eastern corners of this deep
twelve-foot verandah. Without a doubt excellent common-sense ideas; but,
unfortunately, much larger than the supply of timber. Rough-hewn posts
for the two-foot piles and verandah supports could be had for the
cutting, and therefore did not give out; but the man used joists and
uprights with such reckless extravagance, that by the time the skeleton
of the building was up, the completion of the contract was impossible.
With philosophical indifference, however, he finished one room
completely; left a second a mere outline of uprights and tye-beams;
apparently forgot all about the bathroom and office; covered the whole
roof, including verandahs, with corrugated iron; surveyed his work with a
certain amount of stolid satisfaction; then announcing that "wood bin
finissem," applied for his cheque and departed; and from that day nothing
further has been done to the House, which stood before us "mostly
verandahs and promises."
Although Mac's description of the House had been apt, he had sadly
underrated the furniture.
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