It was nearly two years since she had seen a woman.
It was a merry camp that night--merry and beautiful and picturesque. The
night was very cold and brilliantly starry, as nights usually are in the
Never-Never during the Dry; the camp fires were all around us: dozens of
them, grouped in and out among the gundies, and among the
fires--chatting, gossiping groups of happy-hearted human beings.
Around one central fire sat the lubras, with an outer circle of smaller
fires behind them: one central fire and one fire behind each lubra, for
such is the wisdom of the black folk; they warm themselves both back and
front. Within another circle of fires chirruped and gossiped the "boys,"
while around an immense glowing heap of logs sat the white folk--the
"big fellow fools" of the party, with scorching faces and freezing
backs, too conservative to learn wisdom from their humbler neighbours.
At our fireside we women did most of the talking, and as we sat chatting
on every subject under the sun, our husbands looked on in indulgent
amusement. Dan soon wearied of the fleeting conversation and turned in,
and the little lad slipped away to the black folk; but late into the
night we talked: late into the night, and all the next day and evening
and following morning--shaded from the brilliant sunshine all day in the
leafy "Cottage," and scorching around the camp fire during the evenings.
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