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: two or three lubras were set to work to convert the
sewing-cotton into tough, strong string, while others prepared a
substitute for the ink from burnt water-lily roots.
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