"I don't think _I_ can manage very much longer without you--my Joan!" murmured Fred. "If you'll have me, darling."
[Sidenote: Here is a story of an out-of-the-way Christmas entertainment got up for a girl's pleasure.]
"I say, Dora, can't we get up some special excitement for sister Maggie, seeing she is to be here for Christmas? I fancy she will, in her home inexperience, expect a rather jolly time spending Christmas in this forsaken spot. I am afraid that my letters home, in which I coloured things up a bit, are to blame for that," my husband added ruefully.
"What can we do, Jack?" I asked. "I can invite the Dunbars, the Connors and the Sutherlands over for a dance, and you can arrange for a kangaroo-hunt the following day. That is the usual thing when special visitors come, isn't it?"
"Yes," he moodily replied, "that about exhausts our programme. Nothing very exciting in that. I say, how would it do to take the fangs out of a couple of black snakes and put them in her bedroom, so as to give her the material of a thrilling adventure to narrate when she goes back to England?"
"That would never do," I protested, "you might frighten her out of her wits. Remember she is not strong, and spare her everything except very innocent adventures. Besides, snakes are such loathsome beasts."
"How would it do, then, to give a big Christmas feast to the blacks?" he hazarded.
"Do you think she would like that?" I asked doubtfully. "Remember how awfully dirty and savage-looking they are."
"Oh, we would try and get them to clean up a bit, and come somewhat presentable," he cheerfully replied. "And, Dora," he continued, "I think the idea is a good one. Sister Maggie is the Hon. Secretary or something of the Missionary Society connected with her Church, and in the thick of all the 'soup and blanket clubs' of the district. She will just revel at the chance of administering to the needs of genuine savages."
"If you think so, you had better try and get the feast up," I resignedly replied; "but I do wish our savages were a little less filthy."
Such was the origin of our Christmas feast to the blacks last year, of which I am about to tell you.
My husband, John MacKenzie, was the manager and part proprietor of a large sheep-station in the Murchison district of Western Australia, and sister Maggie was his favourite sister. A severe attack of pneumonia had left her so weak that the doctors advised a sea voyage to Australia, to recuperate her strength--a proposition which she hailed with delight, as it would give her the opportunity of seeing her brother in his West Australian home. My husband, of course, was delighted at the prospect of seeing her again, while I too welcomed the idea of meeting my Scottish sister-in-law, with whom I had much charming correspondence, but had never met face to face.