One blazing hot day in the Christmas week Jim and I rode up the 'gap' that led from the Southern road towards Rocky Creek and the little flat near the water where our hut stood.

The horses were tired, for we'd ridden a long way, and not very slow either, to get to the old place.
How small and queer the old homestead looked, and everything about it after all we had seen.

The trees in the garden were in full leaf, and we could see that it was not let go to waste.

Mother was sitting in the verandah sewing, pretty near the same as we went away, and a girl was walking slowly up from the creek carrying a bucket of water.

It was Aileen.