So at length they were slipping down the steep slopes again, between the dense, creeper-tangled jungle and tree ferns, dark, chilly. They passed a family moving from nowhere to nowhere, two colts trotting beside the wagon. And they came out at last at the bottom, to the lost, flickering little township, at nightfall.
At home, with all the house full of blossom, but fluffy gold wattle-bloom, they sat at tea in the pleasant room, the bright fire burning, eating boiled eggs and toast. And they looked at one another—and Richard uttered the unspoken thought:
“ Do you wish you were staying?”
“ I—I,” stammered Harriet, “if I had three lives, I’d wish to stay. It’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever known.”
“ I know,” he answered, laughing. “If one could live a hundred years.
