His wife and children are left here alone.

Four ragged, dried-up-looking children are playing about the house. Suddenly one of them yells: ‘Snake! Mother, here’s a snake!’

The gaunt, sun-browned bushwoman dashes from the kitchen, snatches her baby from the ground, holds it on her left hip, and reaches for a stick.

‘Where is it?’

‘Here! gone into the wood-heap!’ yells the eldest boy – a sharp-faced, excited urchin of eleven. ‘Stop there, mother! I’ll have him. Stand back! I’ll have the beggar!’

‘Tommy, come here, or you’ll be bit. Come here at once when I tell you, you little wretch!’

The youngster comes reluctantly, carrying a stick bigger than himself. Then he yells, triumphantly:

‘There it goes – under the house!’ and darts away with club uplifted. At the same time the big, black, yellow-eyed dog-of-all-breeds, who has shown the wildest interest in the proceedings, breaks his chain and rushes after that snake. He is a moment late, however, and his nose reaches the crack in the slabs just as the end of its tail disappears. Almost at the same moment the boy’s club comes down and skins the aforesaid nose. Alligator takes small notice of this, and proceeds to undermine the building; but he is subdued after a struggle and chained up. They cannot afford to lose him.

The drover’s wife makes the children stand together near the doghouse while she watches for the snake. She gets two small dishes of milk and sets them down near the wall to tempt it to come out; but an hour goes by and it does not show itself.

It is near sunset, and a thunderstorm is coming. The children must be brought inside. She will not take them into the house, for she knows the snake is there, and may at any moment come up through the cracks in the rough slab floor; so she carries several armfuls of firewood into the kitchen, and then takes the children there. The kitchen has no floor – or, rather, an earthen one – called a ‘ground floor’ in this part of the bush. There is a large, roughly made table in the centre of the place. She brings the children in, and makes them get on this table. They are two boys and two girls – mere babies. She gives them some supper, and then, before it gets dark, she goes into the house, and snatches up some pillows and bedclothes – expecting to see or lay her hand on the snake any minute. She makes a bed on the kitchen table for the children, and sits down beside it to watch all night.

She has an eye on the corner, and a green sapling club laid in readiness on the dresser by her side, together with her sewing basket and a copy of the Young Ladies’ Journal. She has brought the dog into the room.

Tommy turns in, under protest, but says he’ll lie awake all night and smash that blinded snake.

His mother asks him how many times she has told him not to swear.

He has his club with him under the bedclothes, and Jacky protests:

‘Mummy! Tommy’s skinnin’ me alive wif his club. Make him take it out.’

Tommy: ‘Shet up, you little –! D’yer want to be bit with the snake?’

Jacky shuts up.

‘If yer bit,’ says Tommy, after a pause, ‘you’ll swell up, an’ smell, an’ turn red an’ green an’ blue all over till yer bust. Won’t he, mother?’

‘Now then, don’t frighten the child. Go to sleep,’ she says.

The two younger children go to sleep, and now and then Jacky complains of being ‘skeezed.’ More room is made for him. Presently Tommy says: ‘Mother! listen to them (adjective) little ’possums. I’d like to screw their blanky necks.’

And Jacky protests drowsily:

‘But they don’t hurt us, the little blanks!’

Mother: ‘There, I told you you’d teach Jacky to swear.’ But the remark makes her smile. Jacky goes to sleep.

Presently Tommy asks:

‘Mother! Do you think they’ll ever extricate the (adjective) kangaroo?’

‘Lord! How am I to know, child? Go to sleep.’

‘Will you wake me if the snake comes out?’

‘Yes. Go to sleep.’

Near midnight. The children are all asleep and she sits there still, sewing and reading by turns. From time to time she glances round the floor and wall-plate, and whenever she hears a noise she reaches for the stick.