It was a dream. The lands lay waste
and desolate: not by nature; oh no; by hand of man. Bathing in these
Loddon water-holes, superb. Tea out of this Loddon water magnificent.
In spite of these horrible hot winds, this water is always fresh and delicious:
how kind is Providence! One night lost the whole blessed lot of my flock.
Myself, the shepherd, did not know, in the name of heavens, which way to turn.
Got among the blacks, the whole Tarrang tribe in corrobory. Lord,
what a rum sight for an old European traveller. Found natives very humane,
though. My sheep right again, only the wild dogs had given them a good shake.
Was satisfied that the Messiah the Jews are looking for will not be born
in this bullock-drivers' land; any how, the angels won't announce the happy
event of his birth to the shepherds. No more truck with sheep, and went
to live with the blacks for a variation. Picked up, pretty soon, bits
of their yabber-yabber. For a couple of years had tasted no fish;
now I pounced on a couple of frogs, every couple of minutes. Thought
their 'lubras' ugly enough; not so, however, the slender arms and small hands
of their young girls, though the fingers be rather too long.
That will do now, in as much as the end of the story is this: That portion
in my brains called "acquisitiveness" got the gold-fever again, and I started
for old Ballaarat.
Chapter VI.
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