THE BUSH HUT 13 



fit for any man unwedded to luxury. Our first care 

 had been to make the hut weatherproof ; then we dealt 

 with the interior. The rough logs were screened with 

 hessian, which, in turn, was covered with wallpaper 

 of a bright tint. Several bunks sacking stretched 

 over wooden frames were built along the walls; a 

 cupboard was fitted in a corner, and the mantelshelf, 

 a deal board, securely nailed above the fireplace. A few 

 photographs and pictures tacked against the walls, a 

 swinging lamp, pots, pans and crockery in their ap- 

 pointed places, and the hut began to look home-like. 



It was late on a Saturday night when our task 

 was finished, and we rested, well pleased with the 

 result. A log fire chased shadows from corners, 

 gleamed redly on every polished surface, and shone on 

 three contented faces. Outside the wind moaned 

 around the hut, a loose piece of bark flapped like a 

 wounded bird, and once a Fox barked. It was 

 pleasant to sit by the fire and listen to those sounds of 

 unrest fretting the night. When the billy boiled we 

 charged tin pannikins with tea, and honoured the toast 

 of "Walden Hut." This name, of course, was borrowed 

 from Thoreau. We had read his books with keen 

 interest, and from the most famous of the series 

 gained the idea of living for awhile in a Bush hut. 



Year after year we spent holidays, and any other 

 days that could be stolen from business, at Olinda 

 Vale. But the joy of living there continuously from 

 January to December was denied us. Thoreau, 

 however, was not the compleat Hermit, for he 

 received visitors and sometimes went to Concord. 

 We did likewise, only our Concord was the town of 

 Lilydale, some three miles from Olinda Vale. Many 

 times we made the journey by moonlight, laden with 

 parcels, but cheery as crickets on the hearth. We were 

 young then, young and in tune with the spirit of the 

 wild; our "thoughts were skimming swallows." 



