The grass-trees which supplied the fuel for these fires spread a pleasant balsamic odour, and the live red patches contrasted oddly with the pale ardour of the moon.
Lights twinkled over all the township, but were brightest in Main Street, the course of which they followed like a rope of fireflies, and at the Government Camp on the steep western slope, where no doubt, as young Purdy had impudently averred, the officials still sat over the dinner-table.

It was very quiet--no grog-shops or saloons-of-entertainment in this neighbourhood, thank goodness!--and the hour was still too early for drunken roisterers to come reeling home.

The only sound to be heard was that of a man's voice singing OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT, to the yetching accompaniment of a concertina.
Mahony hummed the tune.
But it was growing cold, as the nights were apt to do on this tableland once summer was past.

He whistled his dog, and Pompey hurried out with a guilty air from the back of the house, where the old shaft stood that served to hold refuse.

Mahony put him on the chain, and was just about to turn in when two figures rounded the corner of a tent and came towards him, pushing their shadows before them on the milk-white ground.
"'D evenin', doc," said the shorter of the two, a nuggetty little man who carried his arms curved out from his sides, gorilla-fashion.
"Oh, good evening, Mr.Ocock," said Mahony, recognising a neighbour .-- "Why, Tom, that you?
Back already, my boy ?"--this to a loutish, loose-limbed lad who followed behind.--"You don't of course come from the meeting ?" "Not me, indeed!" gave back his visitor with gall, and turned his head to spit the juice from a plug.