The town was waking to its daily routine; Garry, the butcher, took down the clumsy board that passed for a window-shutter, and McDermott, the carter, passed the hotel, riding a huge rough-coated draught-horse, bare-backed.

Everyone gave him a "Mornin', Billy!" as he passed, and he returned the greeting as he did every morning of his life.

A few children loitered past to the little school-house, staring at her as though she were some animal.
She was in a hurry to get away--English people always are--but in the bright lexicon of the bush there is no such word as hurry.

Tracey, the blacksmith, had not by any means finished shoeing the coach-horse yet.
So Mrs.Connellan made an attempt to find out who she was, and why she was going to Kuryong.
"You'll have a nice trip in the coach," she said.

"Lier (lawyer) Blake's going down.