It moved a little, then it was still, then moved again; then through the gap a small nose appeared, and a yellow ear overlapping one eye; then the whole head obtruded, placed itself critically on one side, wrinkled its nose disapprovingly at Gregory, and withdrew.

Through the half-open door came a faint scent of vinegar, and the room was dark and still.
Presently the landlady came back.
"Left the door open," she said, bustling to shut it; "but a darky will be a darky, and never carries a head on its shoulders like other folks.
Not ill, I hope sir ?" she said, looking at Gregory when she had shut the bedroom door.
"No," said Gregory, "no." The landlady began putting the things together.
"Who," asked Gregory, "is in that room ?" Glad to have a little innocent piece of gossip to relate, and some one willing to hear it, the landlady made the most of a little story as she cleared the table.

Six months before a lady had come alone to the hotel in a wagon, with only a coloured leader and driver.

Eight days after a little baby had been born.
If Gregory stood up and looked out at the window he would see a bluegum-tree in the graveyard; close by it was a little grave.

The baby was buried there.