There was no garden in front of the house, merely the bare earth and a dust-heap where ashes were thrown out, on which a few hens were enjoying the afternoon sun and fluffing the dust over themselves.
At the back was a fair-sized garden, with fine, healthy-looking trees; and about a quarter of a mile away was the straggling collection of bark-roofed sheds and corkscrew-looking fences that served Red Mick as shearing-sheds for his sheep, and drafting and branding-yards for his cattle and horses.

After a hurried survey Hugh dropped lightly down into shelter, and whispered, "There's no one moving at all.

There's a newly-fallen tree about a hundred yards down the creek; we'll get among its branches and watch." They crept along the creek until opposite the fallen tree; there Hugh scaled the bank and pulled Mary up after him.

Silent as shadows, they stole through a little patch of young timber, and ensconced themselves among the fragrant branches.

The grass was long where the tree had fallen, and this, with the green boughs, made a splendid couch and hiding-place.
They settled close together and peered out like squirrels, first up at the house, then down the valley for the arrival of the sheep.