i8 BUSH DAYS 



their thick webs from branch to branch, seem to be the only 

 living things in that blackened scene unless perchance there 

 is a snake or two hiding amongst the grass-trees. And yet it 

 is here, amongst these arid rocks and burnt-out bushes, that 

 the brightest and biggest of the bells are to be found. 



From earliest morning the pickers have been arriving. 

 The little station, which throughout the year never sees more 

 than half a dozen passengers a day, now receives a crowd 

 from every train. All sorts and conditions leave the carriages 

 first and second-class passengers, elderly gentlemen, school- 

 girls, and little ragamuffins. From all the countryside they 

 congregate for this is the spot far-famed throughout the land 

 for the Christmas bells. Other places there are in plenty 

 where the bells grow freely, but nowhere are they so fine and 

 so plentiful as in this one gully. And so, every year, for a 

 week or more before Christmas Day, the bush is thronged 

 with hundreds of seekers after the precious flowers. 



People who never go into the bush from one year's end 

 to another come out at this time in quest of the bells; young 

 men, who would scorn to spend their time picking any other 

 flowers, come in sulkies and on bicycles to carry home the 

 dearly-prized blossoms ; pretty girls brave sunburn, sandflies, 

 and torn dresses to gather the bells ; and even the small boys 

 neglect their cricket and their caddying to go in search of the 

 red beauties. The bush, usually so silent, re-echoes with the 

 sound of laughter and voices, calling now and then to know 



