On the Track | Page 8

Where bright angel feet have trod? The beautiful -- the beautiful river That flows by the throne of God! -- Diggers wanted to send that girl "Home", but Granny Mathews had the old-fashioned horror of any of her children becoming "public" -- Gather with the saints at the river, That flows by the throne of God!
. . . . .
But it grows late, or rather, early. The "Eyetalians" go by in the frosty moonlight, from their last shift in the claim (for it is Saturday night), singing a litany.
"Get up on one end, Abe! -- stand up all!" Hands are clasped across the kitchen table. Redclay, one of the last of the alluvial fields, has petered out, and the Roaring Days are dying. . . . The grand old song that is known all over the world; yet how many in ten thousand know more than one verse and the chorus? Let Peter McKenzie lead: Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min'? And hearts echo from far back in the past and across wide, wide seas: Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' lang syne?
Now boys! all together! For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. We twa hae run about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine; But we've wandered mony a weary foot, Sin' auld lang syne. The world was wide then. We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, Frae mornin' sun till dine: the log fire seems to grow watery, for in wide, lonely Australia -- But seas between us braid hae roar'd, Sin' auld lang syne. The kitchen grows dimmer, and the forms of the digger-singers seemed suddenly vague and unsubstantial, fading back rapidly through a misty veil. But the words ring strong and defiant through hard years: And here's a hand, my trusty frien', And gie's a grup o' thine; And we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne.
. . . . .
And the nettles have been growing for over twenty years on the spot where Granny Mathews' big bark kitchen stood.

A Vision of Sandy Blight

I'd been humping my back, and crouching and groaning for an hour or so in the darkest corner of the travellers' hut, tortured by the demon of sandy blight. It was too hot to travel, and there was no one there except ourselves and Mitchell's cattle pup. We were waiting till after sundown, for I couldn't have travelled in the daylight, anyway. Mitchell had tied a wet towel round my eyes, and led me for the last mile or two by another towel -- one end fastened to his belt behind, and the other in my hand as I walked in his tracks. And oh! but this was a relief! It was out of the dust and glare, and the flies didn't come into the dark hut, and I could hump and stick my knees in my eyes and groan in comfort. I didn't want a thousand a year, or anything; I only wanted relief for my eyes -- that was all I prayed for in this world. When the sun got down a bit, Mitchell started poking round, and presently he found amongst the rubbish a dirty-looking medicine bottle, corked tight; when he rubbed the dirt off a piece of notepaper that was pasted on, he saw "eye-water" written on it. He drew the cork with his teeth, smelt the water, stuck his little finger in, turned the bottle upside down, tasted the top of his finger, and reckoned the stuff was all right.
"Here! Wake up, Joe!" he shouted. "Here's a bottle of tears."
"A bottler wot?" I groaned.
"Eye-water," said Mitchell.
"Are you sure it's all right?" I didn't want to be poisoned or have my eyes burnt out by mistake; perhaps some burning acid had got into that bottle, or the label had been put on, or left on, in mistake or carelessness.
"I dunno," said Mitchell, "but there's no harm in tryin'."
I chanced it. I lay down on my back in a bunk, and Mitchell dragged my lids up and spilt half a bottle of eye-water over my eye-balls.
The relief was almost instantaneous. I never experienced such a quick cure in my life. I carried the bottle in my swag for a long time afterwards, with an idea of getting it analysed, but left it behind at last in a camp.
Mitchell scratched his head thoughtfully, and watched me for a while.
"I think I'll wait a bit longer," he said at last, "and if it doesn't blind you I'll put some in my eyes. I'm getting a touch of blight myself now. That's the fault of travelling with a mate who's always catching something that's no good to him."
As it grew