See Her With The Sick Travellers!" And Then He Stopped
Unexpectedly As His Voice Became Thick And Husky.
Camp-fire conversations have a trick of coming to an abrupt end without
embarrassing any one.
As Dan sat looking into the fire, with his
thoughts far away in the past, the Maluka began to croon contentedly at
"Home, Sweet Home," and, curled up in the warm, sweet nest of leaves, I
listened to the crooning, and, watching the varying expression of Dan's
face, wondered if Mrs. Bob had any idea of the bright memories she had
left behind her in the bush. Then as the Maluka crooned on, everything
but the crooning became vague and indistinct, and, beginning also to see
into the heart of things, I learned that when a woman finds love and
comradeship out-bush, little else is needed to make even the glowing
circle of a camp fire her home-circle.
Without any warning the Maluka's mood changed, "There is nae luck aboot
her house, there is nae luck at a'," he shouted lustily, and Dan, waking
from his reverie with a start, rose to the tempting bait.
"No LUCK about HER house!" he said. "It was Mrs. Bob that had no luck.
She struck a good, comfortable, well-furnished house first go off, and
never got an ounce of educating. She was chained to that house as surely
as ever a dog was chained to its kennel. But it'll never come to that
with the missus.
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