Again seated, she watched the oncoming mail-car seeming to swerve alternately eastward and then westward as it followed the winding track, its wheels and mudguards hidden from her by the low bluebush. A huge volume of dust rose behind the vehicle, to be rushed eastward in a long slant by the wind. Oddly enough, that dust reminded Mrs. Nelson this morning of the old oleograph in the bar parlour showing H.M.S. Majestic ploughing an angry Atlantic as great billows of black smoke poured from her two funnels set abreast.

An old man came forth from one of the houses to stand and peer along the track. The uniformed policeman emerged from the police station calmly to survey the township. The usual stray cow and two goats wandered into the single street. And then, beating the sound of thewind, came the rising hum of the mail-car.

As had the drivers of Cobb and Co.’s coaches, so did the youths driving these mail-cars always when arriving from Broken Hill pass the hotel to make first stop at the post office. Having dropped the mail, they then drove back to the hotel, where passengers and driver ate breakfast, and where, in the old days, the horses had been changed.

To the grave perturbation of Mrs. Nelson and to the astonishment of Mr. Smith, Constable Lee and “Grandfer” Littlejohn, this morning’s mail-car passed the post office to stop outside Dr. Mulray’s house.

Old Grandfer very nearly fell down as he hobbled across the street to reach the mail-car. The baker, the storekeeper, the policeman and half a dozen women, who had seemingly evolved from space, rushed to the house side of the mail-car; while, once more on her feet, glasses glued to her eyes, Mrs. Nelson danced like awilly wagtail. The passengers she saw emerge from the car, and the little crowd appeared to be strangely stilled. Then the robust figure of Dr. Mulray appeared, when there was suddenly much loud talking. The wind permitted Mrs. Nelson to hear not a word.