Mrs. Stubbs' shop, and as they passed by there was a strong whiff of
eucalyptus. And now big spots of light gleamed in the mist. The shepherd
stopped whistling; he rubbed his red nose and wet beard on his wet sleeve
and, screwing up his eyes, glanced in the direction of the sea. The sun
was rising. It was marvellous how quickly the mist thinned, sped away,
dissolved from the shallow plain, rolled up from the bush and was gone as
if in a hurry to escape; big twists and curls jostled and shouldered each
other as the silvery beams broadened. The far-away sky--a bright, pure
blue--was reflected in the puddles, and the drops, swimming along the
telegraph poles, flashed into points of light. Now the leaping, glittering
sea was so bright it made one's eyes ache to look at it. The shepherd drew
a pipe, the bowl as small as an acorn, out of his breast pocket, fumbled
for a chunk of speckled tobacco, pared off a few shavings and stuffed the
bowl. He was a grave, fine-looking old man. As he lit up and the blue
smoke wreathed his head, the dog, watching, looked proud of him.

"Baa! Baaa!" The sheep spread out into a fan. They were just clear of
the summer colony before the first sleeper turned over and lifted a drowsy
head; their cry sounded in the dreams of little children...who lifted their
arms to drag down, to cuddle the darling little woolly lambs of sleep.
Then the first inhabitant appeared; it was the Burnells' cat Florrie,
sitting on the gatepost, far too early as usual, looking for their milk-
girl. When she saw the old sheep-dog she sprang up quickly, arched her
back, drew in her tabby head, and seemed to give a little fastidious
shiver. "Ugh! What a coarse, revolting creature!" said Florrie. But the
old sheep-dog, not looking up, waggled past, flinging out his legs from
side to side. Only one of his ears twitched to prove that he saw, and
thought her a silly young female.

The breeze of morning lifted in the bush and the smell of leaves and wet