Eusty’s voice was crisp with cheerfulness. Drought and debt had no power to dispirit him—it took a stomach-ache or something personal. “What’s making you so flaming down in the mug, Sybylla? It’s us—who’ve been at home grafting away like fury while you were flying round among the toffs having a slashing time—that ought to hang our lip. Them city folks livin’ on us people on the land!”

Bandicoot came to a dead stop opposite a man who was mending a gate. “Hello! The old moke still alive and kicking,” he observed. “Might get rain next month,” he continued hopefully. “Pet of a day ain’t it?”

“We’re about drove off of the land,” said Mr. Blackshaw. “Well have to join the unemployed and get seven bob a day minimum.”

We dropped our passenger at the corner of his own fence and toiled on to our destination, Bandicoot’s old coat sopping with the sweat of weakness.

“Put the poor old chap in the stable till he cools, and give him a handful of straw,” commanded Pa.

Ma adjured us to get inside quickly and close the door. She had cleared the dust away twice that day, and was now going to desist until the wind subsided. Home was a dreary spectacle. Four-footed friends had died of their sufferings in my absence. Only the hardiest plants in the garden survived. Everything had a dirty grey film, irritating to the touch. Grit on the plates, grit between the teeth, grit on the pillow, grit in one’s soul, ugh! An all-pervading smell of dust—ugh!

Dear old Pa was cheerful. He greeted me like a real friend and said we were better off than the people out West, whose homes were sometimes entirely buried in sand. He wanted to hear of everyone I had met, especially his former associates. When we were settled for the evening before the fire—one thing that the dust could not spoil—Pa, by eager questioning, had me telling of everyone I had met and what they said—with certain reservations.

“You saw Goring Hardy, did you have any talk with him?”

“Oh, yes, he was quite chatty, and advised me to go to London.”

“How did he suggest finding the means?” inquired Ma.

“He dropped the suggestion when I told him how we are situated.” I did not add, and after he had found my maidenly citadel invulnerable.

“You’ve had a great holiday,” interposed Aunt Jane. “Times have changed since I was a girl. If I had acted as you have, flouting modesty and blaspheming God, I should have been locked up on bread and water instead of being flattered and entertained. I don’t know what the world is coming to with vulgarity and immorality.”

“People will give you a little adulation, when it costs them nothing,” remarked Ma with withering actuality, and got out the darning.

Bung went my Sydney career. I was back on the land at ’Possum Gully.

The dust storm took three days to clear away, and left everything in a deplorable condition. It meant house-cleaning from end to end. I hated the coarse work after a taste of city luxury and conveniences, but I did not dare let my feelings escape me. The great adventure to Sydney had ended in debacle. I sat amid the debris of hopes and expectations—only nebulous ones it is true, but all that I had had—and I had to grope my way out.