"Is all well my children?" comes the cry from the
watchman of the night; and with a gentle stirring the answer floats back
"All is well."
Softly the pine forest rustled with the call and the answer; and as the
camp roused to its dim half-consciousness, Dan murmured sleepily,
"Sool'em, old girl" then after a vigorous rustling among the leaves
(Sool'em's tail returning thanks for the attention), everything slipped
back into unconsciousness until the dawn. As the first grey streak of
dawn filtered through the pines, a long-drawn out cry of "Day-li-ght"
Dan's camp reveille rolled out of his net, and Dan rolled out after it,
with even less ceremony than he had rolled in.
On our way back to the homestead, Dan suggesting that the "missus might
like to have a look at the dining-room," we turned into the towering
timber that borders the Reach, and for the next two hours rode on through
soft, luxurious shade; and all the while the fathomless spring-fed Reach
lay sleeping on our left.
The Reach always slept; for nearly twelve miles it lay, a swaying garland
of heliotrope and purple waterlilies, gleaming through a graceful fringe
of palms and rushes and scented shrubs, touched here and there with
shafts of sunlight, and murmuring and rustling with an attendant host of
gorgeous butterflies and flitting birds and insects.
Pages:
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124