Early move (about fowl-sing-out) would not be amiss;
and, always obedient to Cheon's will, we all turned in, in good time, and
becoming drowsy, dreamed of "watching" great mobs of Vealers, with each
Vealer endowed with a plum-pudding for a head.
CHAPTER XXIII
At earliest dawn we were awakened by wild, despairing shrieks, and were
instinctively groping for our revolvers when we remembered the fatted
fowls and Cheon's lonely vigil, and turning out, dressed hastily,
realising that Christmas had come, and the pullets had sung their last
"sing-out."
When we appeared the stars were still dimly shining, but Cheon's face was
as luminous as a full moon, as, greeting each and all of us with a "Melly
Clisymus," he suggested a task for each and all. Some could see about
taking the Vealer down from the gallows; six lubras were "rounded up" for
the plucking of the pullets, while the rest of us were sent out, through
wet grass and thicket, into the cold, grey dawn, to gather in "big, big
mob bough and mistletoe," for the beautifying of all things.
How we worked! With Cheon at the helm, every one was of necessity
enthusiastic. The Vealer was quartered in double-quick time, and the
first fitful rays of sunlight found their way to the Creek crossing to
light up an advancing forest of boughs and mistletoe clumps that moved
forward on nimble black legs.
In a gleaming, rustling procession the forest of green boughs advanced,
all crimson-flecked with mistletoe and sunlight, and prostrated itself
around us in mighty heaps at the head of the homestead thoroughfare.
Then the nimble black legs becoming miraculously endowed with nimble
black bodies and arms, soon the gleaming boughs were piled high upon the
iron roof of the Eastern verandah to keep our impromptu dining-hall cool
and fresh. High above the roof rose the greenery, and over the edge of
the verandah, throughout its length, hung a deep fringe of green,
reaching right down to the ground at the posts; everywhere among the
boughs trailed long strands of bright red mistletoe, while within the
leafy bower itself hanging four feet deep from the centre of the high
roof one dense elongated mass of mistletoe swayed gently in the breeze,
its heaped-up scarlet blossoms clustering about it like a swarm of
glorious bees.
Cheon interrupted the decorations with a call to "Bressfass! Duck cully
and lice," he sang boldly, and then followed in a doubtful, hesitating
quaver: "I - think - sausage. Must have sausage for Clisymus bress-fass,"
he said emphatically, as he ushered us to seats, and we agreed with our
usual "Of course!" But we found fried balls of minced collops, which
Cheon hastened to explain would have been sausages if only he had had
skins to pack them into.
"Him close up sausage!" he assured us, but that anxious quaver was back
in his voice, and to banish all clouds from his loyal old heart, we ate
heartily of the collops, declaring they were sausages in all BUT skins.
Skins, we persuaded him, were merely appendages to sausages, barriers, in
fact, between men and delectable feasts; and satisfied that we were
satisfied, he became all beams once more, and called our attention to the
curried duck.
The duck discussed, he hinted that dinner was the be all and end all of
"Clisymus," and, taking the hint, we sent the preparations merrily
forward.
Every chair and stool on the run was mustered; two tables were placed end
to end beneath that clustering, mistletoe and covered with clean white
tablecloths - remembering the story of the rags and hobble rings we
refrained from serviettes - the hop-beer was set in canvas water bags to
keep it cool; and Cheon pointing out that the approach from the kitchens
was not all that could be desired, an enormous tent-fly was stretched
away from the roof of the verandah, extending it half-way to the kitchen,
and further greenery was used, decorating it within and without to make
it a fitting passage-way for the transport of Cheon's triumphs. Then
Cheon's kitchen decorations were renewed and added to; and after that
further suggestions suggested and attended to. Everything that could be
done was done, and by eight o'clock all was ready for Cheon's triumphs,
all but our appetites and time of day.
By nine o'clock Mac and Tam had arrived, and after everything had been
sufficiently admired, we trooped in a body to the kitchen, obedient to a
call from Cheon.
Triumph after triumph was displayed, and after listening gravely and
graciously to our assurances that already everything was "more better'n
Pine Creek last year," Cheon allowed us a glimpse of the pudding through
a cloud of steam, the company standing reverently around the fire trench
in a circle, as it bent over the bubbling boiler; then scuttling away
before us like an old hen with a following of chickens, he led the way to
the waterbags, and asked our opinion on the hop-beer: "You think him
jump-up longa dinner time? Eh, boss ?" he said anxiously, as the Maluka,
holding a bottle between us and the light, examined it critically. "Me
make him three o'clock longa night-time."
It looked remarkably still and tranquil, but we hoped for the best, and
half an hour later were back at the waterbags, called thither to decide
whether certain little globules were sediment or air-bubbles. Being
sanguine, we decided in favour of bubbles, and in another half-hour were
called back again to the bags to see that the bubbles were bubbles
indeed, having dropped in at the kitchens on our way to give an opinion
on veal stuffing and bread sauce; and within another half-hour were
peering into the oven to inspect further triumphs of cooking.
