Page:The Toll of the Bush.pdf/252

The boys on the station were getting the big shed ready for a dance, for it was Christmas Eve. The wool, gum, and lumber had been shifted out the day before, and buckets of hot lime, boiled with chopped hide, brushed on the roof and walls. The shed had a solid floor of narrow planks, well laid on heavy blocks, and was spacious enough to accommodate the largest band of dancers likely to be drawn together in the district. The whitening and scrubbing being over, a stable-lad was busy suspending large kerosene lamps from the rafters, while another young man, under the direction of Eve, was engaged in looping up garlands of ‘waiwaikoko’ or owl’s-foot moss, together with branches of Christmas tree, aflame with their blood-red flowers. An air of mirth prevailed in the building; jests and laughter passed from lip to lip, and echoed from the walls of the hollow shell. Geoffrey stood by Eve, now holding her in conversation, now encouraging the man on the ladder to renewed efforts.

‘It’s all very fine, Mr. Hernshaw,’ said the latter at last; ‘but when you've got to prop the stuff up