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Updated: May 8, 2025
Lonely graves in the bush and grey old diggers here and there, anywhere in the world, doing anything for a living, lonely yet because of the girls who couldn't wait, but prospecting and fossicking here and there, and dreaming still. They thought it was going to last for ever. Christmas at Eurunderee Creek, amongst the old selection farms in the western spurs of the Blue Mountains.
Peter M'Laughlan, bush missionary, Joe Wilson and his mate, Jack Barnes, shearers for the present, and a casual swagman named Jack Mitchell, were camped at Cox's Crossing in a bend of Eurunderee Creek. It was a grassy little flat with gum-trees standing clear and clean like a park.
Maybe Joe "knocks about" the farm a bit before going into the Great North-West with another mob of cattle. The last time I saw the Old Year out at Eurunderee the bushfires were burning all over the ranges, and looked like great cities lighted up. No need for bonfires then.
Mary let Aunt Emma in after a while, ceased sobbing and allowed herself to be comforted a little. Next morning she was out milking at the usual time, but there were dark hollows under her eyes, and her little face was white and set. After breakfast she rolled the cape up very tight in a brown-paper parcel, addressed it severely to Eurunderee Creek, and sent it home by one of the school-children.
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