Further up along this water is a brush shearing-shed, a rough
framework of poles with a brush roof. This kind of shed has the
advantage of being cooler than iron. It is not rain-proof, but
shearers do not work in rainy weather; shearing even slightly damp
sheep is considered the surest and quickest way to get the worst kind
of rheumatism. The floor is covered with rubbish from the roof, and
here and there lies a rusty pair of shears. A couple of dry tar-pots
hang by nails in the posts. The "board" is very uneven and must be
bad for sweeping. The pens are formed by round, crooked stakes driven
into the ground in irregular lines, and the whole business reminds us
of the "cubby-house" style of architecture of our childhood.

Opposite stands the wool-shed, built entirely of galvanized iron; a
blinding object to start out of the scrub on a blazing, hot day. God
forgive the man who invented galvanized iron, and the greed which
introduced it into Australia: you could not get worse roofing material
for a hot country.

The wool-washing, soap-boiling, and wool-pressing arrangements are
further up the dam. "Government House" is a mile away, and is
nothing better than a bush hut; this station belongs to a company.
And the company belongs to a bank. And the banks belong to England,
mostly.

Mulga scrub all round, and, in between, patches of reddish sand where
the grass ought to be.

It is New Year's Eve. Half a dozen travellers are camping in the hut,
having a spell. They need it, for there are twenty miles of dry
lignum plain between here and the government bore to the east; and