"I see them—here they come!" cried Eva with excitement.
Forthwith over the very ridges that the dying eye of the squatter had looked upon last, a troop bearing banners appeared. Instruments of brass shone in the sunlight—horse-teams, bullock-wagons, spring-carts, and drays, laden with singing, laughing, gesticulating women and children; men astride fowl-coops, youths waving their caps from the top of swaying loads, children running alongside, plucking the heather as the caravan descended into the valley—a long, animated line, winding through the solitary pine-trees, round the granite rocks, pilgrims from the dreary city, escaping to the paradise God had prepared for them.
In the midst of Settlement Square—as it was to be called—on "the village green" they met, the benefactors and the beneficiaries.
"Home, sweet Home," the band struck up as the players, all settlers, took their stand under a wide-spreading gum. There were wringing of hands, shouts of delight, capering of children, with some shedding of tears, as all speeded to see on which tent their names were inscribed, and what plot was to be the scene of their future labour.
As, an hour later, the doctor took his wife's arm and led her slowly homeward his hand trembled.
"It was almost too much for me," he confessed, "to see the pale-faced creatures, brave with hope, sweeping into the lovely valley. God help them—and us. The responsibility is great, and so is the joy." ....
"Do you remember the old squatter's last vision?" said Dowling to his wife as they walked home. "It was fulfilled, surely, this very evening,"
