72 
MYOLA 
CHAP. 
Oh dear, what a day of heat and flies ! What the 
thermometer stood at under those four iron walls, I am 
afraid to think, and I quite believe the man who said 
he had cooked his dinner many a time on the roof. 
I felt that if I remained there much longer I would 
have been in the same condition, so, taking out my 
paints, I went on with my work lying full length 
under the shade of a tree trying to imagine myself 
cooler. The mosquitoes drove me inside again. 
In the evening, much against Mrs. S.’s will, I took her 
into the bush for a walk, and a most monotonous one 
it was, too ; her powers of conversation were limited, 
and she spoke of our delay in such an injured tone that 
I felt at last that I alone was entirely to blame for the 
horses’ pranks. Gum-trees were thick all round us, and 
the fallen leaves, dry and crisp, crackled under our feet 
as we walked over them. The sound of the cicadas 
beating their tiny transparent wings against their sides 
made the most deafening noise in the trees above. An 
ancient poet writes — “ Happy are cicadas’ lives, for they 
all have voiceless wives,” the preceding lines having 
been written from the fact that only the male insect 
can produce this noise. There was not a breath of air, 
the lurid sky was without a cloud, even the birds hadn’t 
the heart to sing, and the silence was oppressive. I had 
milk for my tea, an unheard-of luxury. Some one had 
sent me a small bottle of goat’s milk, and with that and 
a fresh-laid egg, I felt that I had had a sumptuous 
meal. 
Towards night the heat became unbearable, and a 
dull lurid glare lit up the horizon. Away in the 
distance came a low continuous sound like the roar 
of rushing wind, and a dense pillar of smoke curled up- 
wards with a dull yellow glare. Below, some terrified 
cattle rushed aimlessly forward and sure-footed kangaroos 
