Gathered In by Catherine Helen Spence — Read

Kenneth knew well what sort of quarters his new friend had chosen, when he declined for himself, not only the timidly-proffered hospitality of Miss Gray, but the hearty and reiterated invitation of the overseer to join him and a few travellers of the better sort in the dining-room of the Bachelor's Hall, where the fare would be better, and the accommodation superior. But his desire to see how David Henderson would make his way with the rough station hands, and his reluctance to lose any of his conversation, made him cling to him as closely as possible. And he was not disappointed. Instead of addressing his talk to the educated man sitting beside him, he joined in all that was said by the most illiterate, and encouraged the most sulky and shy to speak, by the evident interest he took in what they had to say. As, however, many of our readers may not be so familiar with a bush kitchen as Kenneth Oswald was, it may be well to give some description of this at Wilta.

It was somewhat larger and better than that of Tingalpa, but differed little in style or comfort. It was a long low room, the walls made of pine slabs stuck upright, and the crevices filled up with clay held together by wattles about six inches apart, with a shingled roof, unceiled, and a clay-floor well beaten down by the tread of many feet. There was a vast chimney at one end where the meals were cooked, and with cooking utensils for ornaments at the end of the room, and rows of nails from which tin pannicans had been taken, which were now laid on the table for the evening meal. At the further end the walls were hung with woodcuts taken from illustrated papers, renewed occasionally as something special took the men's fancy, or as the smoke and flies made the old ones somewhat dim.