She had the Irish wit to make the men grin at her prompt answer, which when it became bruited up and down the Leura, earned her the reputation of being sharp at repartee.
'But do you think,' said she confidingly, 'that the cow would be after realising ME as an expression of the Divine Mind ?' 'Eh, you needn't think you're going to knock spots off my wife, any of you,' cried Colin delighted at the sally.

And now he walked and talked like a man on his own soil again, as more of the townsfolk came about--extraordinary people, Bridget thought.

Loose-limbed bush-riders, really trim, some of them, in clean breeches and with a scarlet handkerchief doing duty as a belt, unkempt old men, a Unionist Labour organiser addressing a knot of station-hands out of work--even a Chinaman--a Chinky, McKeith called him, who, it appeared kept a nondescript store.

That was in the days before the Commonwealth and the battle cry of 'White Australia.' All of them showed the deepest interest in the small, pale, picturesque woman walking by Colin's side.
It seemed incredible to Biddy that she should be walking like that beside the big Bushman, in this sort of town, and that he should be her lawful protector.
The street they walked up began from the wharf with two-storied respectable buildings--the Bank, the Post-Office, the police-magistrate's residence, some dwelling houses, within palings enclosing gardens--clumps of bananas, pawpaw apple trees, a few flower beds, bushes of flaunting red poinsettia, and so forth.

There were stores, public houses, meaner shanties straggling along a dusty road that lost itself in vistas of lank gum trees.
The Postmaster hoped that Mr McKeith's lady would not find the hotel too rowdy.