He was perfectly indifferent
to all danger from bush-rangers, burglars, pickpockets, or cattle
stealers; he did not even own a dog, so the dogman never asked him
for the dog tax. He never enquired about the state of the money
market, nor bothered himself about the prices of land or cattle, wood,
wine, or wheat. Every bank, and brewery, and building society in the
world might go into liquidation at once for aught he cared. He had
retired from the Government service, had superannuated himself on a
pension of nothing per annum, and to draw it he required no voucher.
And yet, notwithstanding all these advantages, I don't think there
are many men who would voluntarily choose his lot. I watched him
from the end of the verandah, and began speculating about him. What
was he thinking about during his solitary watches in the night or
while he tramped alone through the bush year after year in heat and
cold, wind and rain? Did he ever think of anything--of his past
life, or of his future lot? Did he believe in or hope for a heaven?
or had he any fear of hell and eternal punishment? Surely he had
been punished enough; in this life he had endured evil things in
plenty, and might at least hope for eternal rest in the next.
He was sitting with his back against a gum tree, and his feet towards
the fire. From time to time he threw a few more sticks on the embers,
and a fitful blaze lit up his dark weatherbeaten face.
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