I
Very early morning. The sun was not yet risen, and the whole of
Crescent Bay was hidden under a white sea-mist. The big bush-covered
hills at the back were smothered. You could not see where they ended
and the paddocks and bungalows began. The sandy road was gone and the
paddocks and bungalows the other side of it; there were no white dunes
covered with reddish grass beyond them; there was nothing to mark which
was beach and where was the sea. A heavy dew had fallen. The grass was
blue. Big drops hung on the bushes and just did not fall; the silvery,
fluffy toi-toi was limp on its long stalks, and all the marigolds and
the pinks in the bungalow gardens were bowed to the earth with wetness.
Drenched were the cold fuchsias, round pearls of dew lay on the flat
nasturtium leaves. It looked as though the sea had beaten up softly in
the darkness, as though one immense wave had come rippling,
rippling—how far? Perhaps if you had waked up in the middle of the
night you might have seen a big fish flicking in at the window and gone
again....
Ah-Aah! sounded the sleepy sea. And from the bush there came the sound
of little streams flowing, quickly, lightly, slipping between the
smooth stones, gushing into ferny basins and out again; and there was
the splashing of big drops on large leaves, and something else—what was
it?—a faint stirring and shaking, the snapping of a twig and then such
silence that it seemed some one was listening.
Round the corner of Crescent Bay, between the piled-up masses of broken
rock, a flock of sheep came pattering. They were huddled together, a
small, tossing, woolly mass, and their thin, stick-like legs trotted
along quickly as if the cold and the quiet had frightened them. Behind
them an old sheep-dog, his soaking paws covered with sand, ran along
with his nose to the ground, but carelessly, as if thinking of
something else. And then in the rocky gateway the shepherd himself
appeared. He was a lean, upright old man, in a frieze coat that was
covered with a web of tiny drops, velvet trousers tied under the knee,
and a wide-awake with a folded blue handkerchief round the brim. One
hand was crammed into his belt, the other grasped a beautifully smooth
yellow stick. And as he walked, taking his time, he kept up a very soft
light whistling, an airy, far-away fluting that sounded mournful and
tender. The old dog cut an ancient caper or two and then drew up sharp,
ashamed of his levity, and walked a few dignified paces by his master’s
side. The sheep ran forward in little pattering rushes; they began to
bleat, and ghostly flocks and herds answered them from under the sea.
“Baa! Baaa!” For a time they seemed to be always on the same piece of
ground. There ahead was stretched the sandy road with shallow puddles;
the same soaking bushes showed on either side and the same shadowy
palings. Then something immense came into view; an enormous
shock-haired giant with his arms stretched out. It was the big gum-tree
outside Mrs. Stubbs’ shop, and as they passed by there was a strong
whiff of eucalyptus. And now big spots of light gleamed in the mist.
The shepherd stopped whistling; he rubbed his red nose and wet beard on
his wet sleeve and, screwing up his eyes, glanced in the direction of
the sea. The sun was rising. It was marvellous how quickly the mist
thinned, sped away, dissolved from the shallow plain, rolled up from
the bush and was gone as if in a hurry to escape; big twists and curls
jostled and shouldered each other as the silvery beams broadened. The
far-away sky—a bright, pure blue—was reflected in the puddles, and the
drops, swimming along the telegraph poles, flashed into points of
light. Now the leaping, glittering sea was so bright it made one’s eyes
ache to look at it. The shepherd drew a pipe, the bowl as small as an
acorn, out of his breast pocket, fumbled for a chunk of speckled
tobacco, pared off a few shavings and stuffed the bowl. He was a grave,
fine-looking old man. As he lit up and the blue smoke wreathed his
head, the dog, watching, looked proud of him.
“Baa! Baaa!” The sheep spread out into a fan. They were just clear of
the summer colony before the first sleeper turned over and lifted a
drowsy head; their cry sounded in the dreams of little children... who
lifted their arms to drag down, to cuddle the darling little woolly
lambs of sleep. Then the first inhabitant appeared; it was the
Burnells’ cat Florrie, sitting on the gatepost, far too early as usual,
looking for their milk-girl. When she saw the old sheep-dog she sprang
up quickly, arched her back, drew in her tabby head, and seemed to give
a little fastidious shiver. “Ugh! What a coarse, revolting creature!”
said Florrie. But the old sheep-dog, not looking up, waggled past,
flinging out his legs from side to side. Only one of his ears twitched
to prove that he saw, and thought her a silly young female.
The breeze of morning lifted in the bush and the smell of leaves and
wet black earth mingled with the sharp smell of the sea. Myriads of
birds were singing. A goldfinch flew over the shepherd’s head and,
perching on the tiptop of a spray, it turned to the sun, ruffling its
small breast feathers. And now they had passed the fisherman’s hut,
passed the charred-looking little _whare_ where Leila the milk-girl
lived with her old Gran. The sheep strayed over a yellow swamp and Wag,
the sheep-dog, padded after, rounded them up and headed them for the
steeper, narrower rocky pass that led out of Crescent Bay and towards
Daylight Cove. “Baa! Baa!” Faint the cry came as they rocked along the
fast-drying road. The shepherd put away his pipe, dropping it into his
breast-pocket so that the little bowl hung over. And straightway the
soft airy whistling began again. Wag ran out along a ledge of rock
after something that smelled, and ran back again disgusted. Then
pushing, nudging, hurrying, the sheep rounded the bend and the shepherd
followed after out of sight.