This last was empty.

I confess I thought rather regretfully of my pretty, comfortable, English-looking bed-room at the other house, with its curtains and carpet, its wardrobes and looking-glasses, when I found myself surveying the scene of my completed labours.

Two station _bunks_,--i.e., wooden bed-frames of the simplest and rudest construction, with a sacking bottom,--a couple of empty boxes, one for a dressing-table and the other for a wash-stand, a tin basin and a bucket of water, being the paraphernalia of the latter, whilst some nails behind the door served to hang our clothes on, such was my station bedroom and all my own doing too! Certainly it looked uncomfortable enough to satisfy any one, but I would not have complained of it for the world, lest I might have been ordered home directly.
Hard as was my bed that night, I slept soundly, and it appeared only five minutes before I heard a tremendous noise outside the verandah.
The bleating of hundreds of sheep announced that the mob were slowly advancing, before a perfect army of men and dogs, up to the sheep yards.
What a din they all made! F---- was wide awake, and up in a moment.

I, anxious to show _why_ I had insisted on coming over, got up too, and made my way into the little kitchen, where I found a charming surprise awaiting me in the shape of some faggots of neatly-stacked wood, cut into exactly, the right lengths for the American stove; and also a heap of dry Menuka bushes, which make the best touchwood for lighting fires in the whole world.

The tiny kitchen and stove were both scrupulously clean, and so were my three saucepans and kettle.