All our neighbours were very friendly; but one in particular, a James Blackshaw, proved himself most desirous of being comradely with us.  He was a sort of self-constituted sheik of the community.  It was usual for him to take all new-comers under his wing, and with officious good-nature endeavour to make them feel at home.  He called on us daily, tied his horse to the paling fence beneath the shade of a sallie-tree in the backyard, and when mother was unable to see him he was content to yarn for an hour or two with Jane Haizelip, our servant-girl.

Jane disliked Possum Gully as much as I did.  Her feeling being much more defined, it was amusing to hear the flat-out opinions she expressed to Mr Blackshaw, whom, by the way, she termed “a mooching hen of a chap”.

“I suppose, Jane, you like being here near Goulburn, better than that out-of-the-way place you came from,” he said one morning as he comfortably settled himself on an old sofa in the kitchen.

“No jolly fear.  Out-of-the-way place!  There was more life at Bruggabrong in a day than you crawlers ’ud see here all yer lives,” she retorted with vigour, energetically pommelling a batch of bread which she was mixing.

“Why, at Brugga it was as good as a show every week.  On Saturday evening all the coves used to come in for their mail.  They’d stay till Sunday evenin’.  Splitters. boundary-riders, dogtrappers—­every manjack of ’em.  Some of us wuz always good fer a toon on the concertina, and the rest would dance.  We had fun to no end.  A girl could have a fly round and a lark or two there I tell you; but here,” and she emitted a snort of contempt, “there ain’t one bloomin’ feller to do a mash with.  I’m full of the place.  Only I promised to stick to the missus a while, I’d scoot tomorrer.  It’s the dead-and-alivest hole I ever seen.”

“You’ll git used to it by and by,” said Blackshaw.

“Used to it!  A person ’ud hev to be brought up onder a hen to git used to the dullness of this hole.”

“You wasn’t brought up under a hen, or it must have been a big Bramer Pooter, if you were,” replied he, noting the liberal proportions of her figure as she hauled a couple of heavy pots off the fire.  He did not offer to help her.  Etiquette of that sort was beyond his ken.

“You oughter go out more and then you wouldn’t find it so dull,” he said, after she had placed the pots on the floor.

“Go out!  Where ’ud I go to, pray?”

“Drop in an’ see my missus again when you git time.  You’re always welcome.”

“Thanks, but I had plenty of goin’ to see your missus last time.”

“How’s that?”