Chapter XXXI: Conclusion: My dear Basil,

The days are growing longer. There is a tinge of summer warmth and
drowsiness in the air. The corn paddock at "Myall," which has been a
picture of vivid green, with the pale gold corn cobs peeping out of
their golden tresses and swathing of tenderest green, is turning to
rich, deep green, with red-gold and burnished cobs raising themselves
proudly erect or swaying in the breeze. The wheat field, too, is
turning to yellow with the rustling ears breathing ever a slight
cadence to the breeze. And with the growing length of days my picture,
too, is growing apace. I stand back and gaze at it ere I place my
brushes away for to-morrow's work. It is a picture of joyous young
life, of early blossom and fresh born greenery, of tender leaflet and
bud, of wattle's gold and a glimpse of road winding among forest
giants, and the spirit of the early tenderness and benediction of
Spring time breathes over all. If in the years to come I shall ever
again gaze on that picture, my thoughts shall go rushing back to
glorious, fresh-tinged days when all the world seemed young; to
lilting, joyous song of birds; to the gambols of those merry foals; to
the teeming, indescribable hum of insect life among those forest
trees; to the haunting perfume of that golden wattle--in fine, to all
the charm and allurement of Spring time in the open spaces.

The end of the year is not far off, and on the whole it has been a
year of interest, of pleasure. When one studies human nature, as well
as the great open Book of Nature around one, then the time flies by
all too quickly.

Soon I shall take a short holiday in Sydney, and just for a space
become one of the busy, hustling crowd, and revel in the glimpses of
shining water and twinkling fairy barques and harbour lights and
white-winged yachts, and then back again to the life of the Bushland,
and the pleasant task of teaching the dearest, funniest children I
have ever met--Five Little Bush Girls.

MARIE.

FINIS.

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