He talked on, telling stories of the blacks and of the wild life of the early days, leaning back in his seat with one careless hand on the wheel, while the car seemed to find its own way along the noiseless sandy track. The scattered farms that spread out a few miles from the township gave place to wide plains, partly covered with scrub, where only an occasional house was to be seen; and the road grew more and more lonely. At first they had met buggies, bullock wagons, and one or two other motors, but after a time they seemed to be the only people on the plain, and it was almost a relief when they met a "sun-downer" slouching along under a heavy swag, his felt hat pulled low over his eyes, and a battered quart pot in his hand. The sun sank lower and lower, and a keen breeze made the travellers glad to put on heavier coats. It was almost dusk when they emerged from a dense belt of gum trees and saw ahead of them a fence, stretching apparently for miles east and west, and a gate that stood open, held by a solemn black boy. Mr. Warner nodded to him, and they swept through. The track curved round a plantation of pines, and they saw a homestead so large that it looked like a village. White-painted roofs gleamed among the trees, and scattered buildings fringed the main block until there seemed no end to them, while the tall, spidery outlines of windmills towered above the green. The deep emerald of a lucerne paddock stretched down to a little creek.
"I didn't know you could grow lucerne here," remarked Mr. Lester. "In fact, I had a vague idea that nothing but sand and mulga really flourished in the West. But your place doesn't suggest that!"
"You can do a heap with irrigation," his host answered. "Between the windmills and a hydraulic ram down at the creek I can get as much water as I want; and with water you can grow anything in this climate. I'll show you all the place to-morrow."
He gave a long coo-ee, bringing the car more slowly round a fence that bordered a great garden. There seemed a dense crowd waiting for them: Mrs. Warner first, her kind face alight with welcome. Merle beside her; close at hand the twinses, struggling against control; and then a few white faces amidst a mass of black ones, all striving to have a good look at the new arrivals. The car came to a standstill, and suddenly Bobby hurtled through the throng and flung himself at the step.