When we got home it was pretty late, and the air was beginning to cool after the hot day.

There was a low moon, and everything showed out clear, so that you could see the smallest branches of the trees on Nulla Mountain, where it stood like a dark cloud-bank against the western sky.
There wasn't the smallest breeze.

The air was that still and quiet you could have heard anything stir in the grass, or almost a 'possum digging his claws into the smooth bark of the white gum trees.

The curlews set up a cry from time to time; but they didn't sound so queer and shrill as they mostly do at night.

I don't know how it was, but everything seemed quiet and pleasant and homelike, as if a chap might live a hundred years, if it was all like this, and keep growing better and happier every day.