The bird life was so rich and varied there seemed no end to new kinds， and they lived not in ones and twos but in thousands upon thousands： tiny green-and-yellow parakeets Fee used to call lovebirds， but which the locals called budgerigars； scarlet-and-blue smallish parrots called rosellas； big pale-grey parrots with brilliant purplish-pink breasts， underwings and heads， called galahs； and the great pure white birds with cheeky yellow combs called sulphur-crested cockatoos. Exquisite tiny finches whirred and wheeled， so did sparrows and starlings， and the strong brown kingfishers called kookaburras laughed and chuckled gleefully or dived for snakes， their favorite food. They were wellnigh human， all these birds， and completely without fear， sitting in hundreds in the trees peering about with bright intelligent eyes， screaming， talking， laughing， imitating anything that produced a sound. Fearsome lizards five or six feet long pounded over the ground and leaped lithely for high tree branches， as at home off the earth as on it； they were goannas. And there were many other lizards， smaller but some no less frightening， adorned with horny triceratopean ruffs about their necks， or with swollen， bright-blue tongues. Of snakes the variety was almost endless， and the Clearys learned that the biggest and most dangerous looking were often the most benign， while a stumpy little creature a foot long might be a death adder； carpet snakes， copper snakes， tree snakes， red-bellied black snakes， brown snakes， lethal tiger snakes.
And insects！ Grasshoppers， locusts， crickets， bees， flies of all sizes and sorts， cicadas， gnats， dragonflies， giant moths and so many butterflies！ The spiders were dreadful， huge hairy things with a leg span of inches， or deceptively small and deadly black-things lurking in the lavatory； some lived in vast wheeling webs slung between trees， some rocked inside dense gossamer cradles hooked among grass blades， others dived into little holes in the ground complete with lids which shut after them.
Predators were there， too： wild pigs frightened of nothing， savage and flesh-eating， black hairy things the size of fully grown cows； dingoes， the wild native dogs which slunk close to the ground and blended into the grass； crows in hundreds carking desolately from the blasted white skeletons of dead trees； hawks and eagles， hovering motionless on the air currents. From some of these the sheep and cattle had to be protected， especially when they dropped their young. The kangaroos and rabbits ate the precious grass； the pigs and dingoes ate lambs， calves and sick animals； the crows pecked out eyes. The Clearys had to learn to shoot， then carried rifles as they rode， sometimes to put a suffering beast out of its misery， sometimes to fell a boar or a dingo.
This， thought the boys exultantly， was life. Not one of them yearned for New Zealand； when the flies clustered like syrup in the corners of their eyes， up their noses， in their mouths and ears， they learned the Australian trick and hung corks bobbing from the ends of strings all around the brims of their hats. To prevent crawlies from getting up inside the legs of (heir baggy trousers they tied strips of kangaroo hide called bowyangs below their knees， giggling at the silly-sounding name， but awed by the necessity. New Zealand was tame compared to this； this was life. Tied to the house and its immediate environs， the women found life much less to their liking， for they had not the leisure or the excuse to ride， nor did they have the stimulation of varying activities. It was just harder to do what women always did： cook， clean， wash， iron， . 98 care for babies. They battled the heat， the dust， the flies， the many steps， the muddy water， the nearly perennial absence of men to carry and chop wood， pump water， kill fowls. The heat especially was hard to bear， and it was as yet only early spring； even so， the thermometer out on the shady veranda reached a hundred degrees every day. Inside the kitchen with the range going， it was a hundred and twenty degrees.
Their many layers of clothing were close-fitting and designed for New Zealand， where inside the house it was almost always cool. Mary Carson， exercising gently by walking down to see her sister-in-law， looked at Fee's high-necked， floor-length calico gown superciliously. She herself was clad in the new fashion， a cream silk dress coming only halfway down her calves， with loose elbow sleeves， no waist and a low décolletage. "Really， Fiona， you're hopelessly old-fashioned，" she said， glancing round the parlor with its fresh coat of cream paint， the Persian carpets and the spindly priceless furniture.
"I have no time to be anything else，" Fee said， curtly for her when acting as hostess.
"You'll have more time now， with the men away so much and fewer meals to get. Raise your hems and stop wearing petticoats and stays， or you'll die when summer comes. It can get fifteen to twenty degrees hotter than this， you know." Her eyes dwelled on the portrait of the beautiful blond woman in her Empress Eugenie crinoline. "Who's that？" she asked， pointing. "My grandmother."
"Oh， really？ And the furniture， the carpets？" "Mine， from my grandmother."
"Oh， really？ My dear Fiona， you've come down in the world， haven't you？" Fee never lost her temper， so she didn't now， but her thin lips got thinner. "I don't think so， Mary. I have a good man； you ought to know that." "But penniless. What was your maiden name？"
"Armstrong."
"Oh， really？ Not the Roderick Armstrong Armstrongs？" "He's my oldest brother. His namesake was my great-grandfather." Mary Carson rose， flapping her picture hat at the flies， which were not respecters of person. "Well， you're better born than the Clearys are， even if I do say so myself. Did you love Paddy enough to give all that up？" "My reasons for what I do，" said Fee levelly， "are my business， Mary， not yours. I do not discuss my husband， even with his sister."
