Page:The Toll of the Bush.pdf/41

It was a cloudless August morning, warm in the sun and cold in the shade. The settlement was wide-awake, and a pleasant smell of wood-fires mingled with the fresh breath of the river. The sun had been above the horizon a considerable time, but Mrs. Gird’s rooster still proclaimed the fact at intervals, the announcement being received with derision or silent contempt by the birds nearer the river. The Girds occupied the outpost, so to speak, of the little army of pioneers, their section being the farthest from the water and the most densely timbered of any. The rooster might be excused, for there was hardly more than twilight there yet.

Robert had been fishing since daylight and was returning up the track, laden with a large bundle of schnappers. The track rose diagonally through the settlement, cutting it into halves and affording an outlet to the settlers on both sides. It was in fact a continuation of the road followed by the brothers some days before, but though the trees had been cut away to the correct width, it had not yet been formed and—paradoxical as it may appear to the