Wombo and the 'big feller White Mary' (the adjective used metaphorically as expressive of distinction) made great friends in those days--out of which friendship sprang, alas! in due time, certain tragic happenings.

It was Lady Bridget who would set the billy boiling and who, after one or two failures, succeeded in making excellent johnny-cakes.

She remembered her first performance in that line under the eyes of a small group of admiring spectators--her husband 'just waiting to see how the new-chum cook shaped,' and, as he said the words, she, glancing up from the sheet of bark and the dough she was kneading, caught a look in his face which was something she could never in all her life forget.

And Moongarr Bill with the horses' reins over his arm, and the two black-boys agape, beady eyes twinkling, white teeth glistening, emitting their queer guttural clicks of approbation, and an occasional 'My word! Bujeri you, Lathy-chap,' the nearest they could get to Moongarr Bill's accepted form of address.

There was joy, glory to Lady Bridget in this playing of the squaw and fending for her man, ceasing to be the goddess and becoming the primal woman.
And the sports, and songs, and stories by the camp fire! Moongarr Bill's yarns, Colin's exploring tales, Wombo's and Cudgee's dances and corroboree-tunes--strange, weird music that had a fascination for Lady Bridget.