"'Oh that I was where I would be!
Then I would be where I am not:
But where I am I still must be,
And where I would be I cannot.'

"Meg, I WISH you would stop treading on my toes."

So after that even Mr. Gillet grew gay and talkative, to show he
was enjoying himself, and the bullocks caught the infection of the
brimming spirits behind them, and moved a LEETLE bit faster than
snails. When they had crept along over about ten miles, however,
the slow motion and the heat that beat down sobered them a little.

"Miss Meg, that silver-grey gum before you, guileless of leaves,
indicates Duck Water."

How glad they were to unfold themselves and stretch out their arms
and legs on the ground at last. No one had dreamt riding behind a
bullock team could have been so "flat, stale, and unprofitable," as
it was after the first mile or two.

Then the trolly continued its course.

"I doubt if they will be back before the sun goes down, if they
don't go a little quicker," Mr. Gillet said; "it is lunch-time
now."

They were in a great grassed paddock that at one end fell abruptly
down to the ravine and swamp lands known as "Duck Water."