io BUSH DAYS 



them out. The spiders seemed to enjoy it, for it turned their 

 round webs into chains and chains of glistening pearls, which 

 attracted more admiration than the spider usually knows. 

 The honey-eaters did not seem to notice it, and, as long as it 

 did not spoil the honey in the big bottle-brushes, where they 

 were greedily feeding, they did not care whether it rained or 

 not. The little tits enjoyed it as they hopped about in the 

 diamond-dewed sheoaks, and shook the fine drops on to their 

 yellow breasts. The wattles, heavily laden with tiny, tiny 

 buds, loved it, too, for they knew it meant the promise of a 

 golden, gorgeous harvest in the months to come. 



And I I loved it most of all. With the brim of my hat 

 turned well back from my face, the collar of my coat well up 

 round my ears, and my hands in my pockets, I walked along 

 the soppy track across the uplands, and felt the soft mist soak 

 into my very being. Sweet and cool and full of health it was, 

 as it curled in my hair and kissed my face. The poor burned 

 trees were not more glad of its gentle healing than was I, as 

 it folded me in its embrace, washed the tiredness from my 

 brain, and filled my soul with that peace and contentment. 

 which only Mother Nature can give to her children. 



