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Thud, thud, thud the blows became slower and more irregular as the fossicker's mind wandered off into the past. The sides of the drive seemed to vanish slowly away, and the "face" retreated far out beyond a horizon that was hazy in the glow of the southern ocean. He was standing on the deck of a ship and by his side stood a brother.
Trial and disgrace follow, and then other misfortunes, pleuro among the cattle, drought, and poverty. Thud, thud, thud again! But it is not the sound of the fossicker's pick it is the fall of sods on his wife's coffin. It is a little bush cemetery, and he stands stonily watching them fill up her grave. She died of a broken heart and shame. "I can't bear disgrace!
Taking off the few things that were lying on it, Bob turned it over and began to knock the top off. When he had finished the coffin one of the fossicker's wives said it looked too bare, and she ripped up her black riding-skirt, and made Bob tack the cloth over the coffin.
"He, who came as a kid and wanted to see if my band-saw 'ud take his head off in one swish he, Tony Taylor, who knew enough at ten to spot the winner of the Cup, to go and get landed by a fossicker's yarn. There's a darned rum go." "Yes; and where's the cause of it all?" Marmot asked. "There must be a cause. We'd all be black-fellows and earth-worms if it wasn't for a cause.
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