Blackshaw, proved himself most desirous of being comradely with us. He
was a sort of self-constituted sheik of the community. It was usual for
him to take all new-comers under his wing, and with officious good-nature
endeavour to make them feel at home. He called on us daily, tied his
horse to the paling fence beneath the shade of a sallie-tree in the
backyard, and when mother was unable to see him he was content to yarn
for an hour or two with Jane Haizelip, our servant-girl.

Jane disliked Possum Gully as much as I did. Her feeling being much more
defined, it was amusing to hear the flat-out opinions she expressed to Mr
Blackshaw, whom, by the way, she termed "a mooching hen of a chap".

"I suppose, Jane, you like being here near Goulburn, better than that
out-of-the-way place you came from," he said one morning as he
comfortably settled himself on an old sofa in the kitchen.

"No jolly fear. Out-of-the-way place! There was more life at Bruggabrong
in a day than you crawlers 'ud see here all yer lives," she retorted with
vigour, energetically pommelling a batch of bread which she was mixing.

"Why, at Brugga it was as good as a show every week. On Saturday evening
all the coves used to come in for their mail. They'd stay till Sunday
evenin'. Splitters. boundary-riders, dogtrappers--every manjack of 'em.
Some of us wuz always good fer a toon on the concertina, and the rest
would dance. We had fun to no end. A girl could have a fly round and a
lark or two there I tell you; but here," and she emitted a snort of
contempt, "there ain't one bloomin' feller to do a mash with. I'm full of
the place. Only I promised to stick to the missus a while, I'd scoot
tomorrer. It's the dead-and-alivest hole I ever seen."