but, as he didn't say so, I had no way of getting at him.
I felt sure he'd go home and tell his wife that Joe Wilson was properly gone
on little 'Possum at Haviland. That was all Jack's way.

Next morning we started to work. We were to build the buggy-house
at the back near the end of the old house, but first we had to take down
a rotten old place that might have been the original hut in the Bush
before the old house was built. There was a window in it,
opposite the laundry window in the old place, and the first thing I did
was to take out the sash. I'd noticed Jack yarning with 'Possum
before he started work. While I was at work at the window
he called me round to the other end of the hut to help him lift a grindstone
out of the way; and when we'd done it, he took the tips of my ear
between his fingers and thumb and stretched it and whispered into it --

`Don't hurry with that window, Joe; the strips are hardwood
and hard to get off -- you'll have to take the sash out very carefully
so as not to break the glass.' Then he stretched my ear a little more
and put his mouth closer --

`Make a looking-glass of that window, Joe,' he said.

I was used to Jack, and when I went back to the window I started to puzzle out
what he meant, and presently I saw it by chance.

That window reflected the laundry window: the room was dark inside
and there was a good clear reflection; and presently I saw Mary
come to the laundry window and stand with her hands behind her back,
thoughtfully watching me. The laundry window had an old-fashioned
hinged sash, and I like that sort of window -- there's more romance about it,