The Garden Party | Page 4

of
eucalyptus. And now big spots of light gleamed in the mist. The
shepherd stopped whistling; he rubbed his red nose and wet beard on
his wet sleeve and, screwing up his eyes, glanced in the direction of the
sea. The sun was rising. It was marvellous how quickly the mist
thinned, sped away, dissolved from the shallow plain, rolled up from
the bush and was gone as if in a hurry to escape; big twists and curls
jostled and shouldered each other as the silvery beams broadened. The
far-away sky--a bright, pure blue--was reflected in the puddles, and the
drops, swimming along the telegraph poles, flashed into points of light.
Now the leaping, glittering sea was so bright it made one's eyes ache to
look at it. The shepherd drew a pipe, the bowl as small as an acorn, out
of his breast pocket, fumbled for a chunk of speckled tobacco, pared off
a few shavings and stuffed the bowl. He was a grave, fine-looking old
man. As he lit up and the blue smoke wreathed his head, the dog,
watching, looked proud of him.
"Baa! Baaa!" The sheep spread out into a fan. They were just clear of
the summer colony before the first sleeper turned over and lifted a
drowsy head; their cry sounded in the dreams of little children...who
lifted their arms to drag down, to cuddle the darling little woolly lambs
of sleep. Then the first inhabitant appeared; it was the Burnells' cat
Florrie, sitting on the gatepost, far too early as usual, looking for their
milk- girl. When she saw the old sheep-dog she sprang up quickly,
arched her back, drew in her tabby head, and seemed to give a little
fastidious shiver. "Ugh! What a coarse, revolting creature!" said Florrie.
But the old sheep-dog, not looking up, waggled past, flinging out his
legs from side to side. Only one of his ears twitched to prove that he
saw, and thought her a silly young female.
The breeze of morning lifted in the bush and the smell of leaves and
wet black earth mingled with the sharp smell of the sea. Myriads of

birds were singing. A goldfinch flew over the shepherd's head and,
perching on the tiptop of a spray, it turned to the sun, ruffling its small
breast feathers. And now they had passed the fisherman's hut, passed
the charred- looking little whare where Leila the milk-girl lived with
her old Gran. The sheep strayed over a yellow swamp and Wag, the
sheep-dog, padded after, rounded them up and headed them for the
steeper, narrower rocky pass that led out of Crescent Bay and towards
Daylight Cove. "Baa! Baa!" Faint the cry came as they rocked along
the fast-drying road. The shepherd put away his pipe, dropping it into
his breast-pocket so that the little bowl hung over. And straightway the
soft airy whistling began again. Wag ran out along a ledge of rock after
something that smelled, and ran back again disgusted. Then pushing,
nudging, hurrying, the sheep rounded the bend and the shepherd
followed after out of sight.
Chapter 1.
II.
A few moments later the back door of one of the bungalows opened,
and a figure in a broad-striped bathing suit flung down the paddock,
cleared the stile, rushed through the tussock grass into the hollow,
staggered up the sandy hillock, and raced for dear life over the big
porous stones, over the cold, wet pebbles, on to the hard sand that
gleamed like oil. Splish- Splosh! Splish-Splosh! The water bubbled
round his legs as Stanley Burnell waded out exulting. First man in as
usual! He'd beaten them all again. And he swooped down to souse his
head and neck.
"Hail, brother! All hail, Thou Mighty One!" A velvety bass voice came
booming over the water.
Great Scott! Damnation take it! Stanley lifted up to see a dark head
bobbing far out and an arm lifted. It was Jonathan Trout--there before
him! "Glorious morning!" sang the voice.
"Yes, very fine!" said Stanley briefly. Why the dickens didn't the fellow
stick to his part of the sea? Why should he come barging over to this

exact spot? Stanley gave a kick, a lunge and struck out, swimming
overarm. But Jonathan was a match for him. Up he came, his black hair
sleek on his forehead, his short beard sleek.
"I had an extraordinary dream last night!" he shouted.
What was the matter with the man? This mania for conversation
irritated Stanley beyond words. And it was always the same--always
some piffle about a dream he'd had, or some cranky idea he'd got hold
of, or some rot he'd been reading. Stanley turned over on his back and
kicked with his legs till he was a living waterspout. But even then..."I
dreamed I