On the Edge of a Plain

"On the Edge of a Plain" is a collection of stories by Australian writer Henry Lawson, celebrated for his vivid depictions of rural life and the struggles of everyday people in Australia. Through a series of poignant narratives, Lawson explores themes of isolation, resilience, and the harsh realities of life on the frontier. His unique voice captures the spirit of the Australian landscape and the experiences of those who inhabit it, often highlighting the challenges faced by farmers, migrants, and the working class. The book is a testament to Lawson's ability to evoke deep empathy and understanding for life's trials, making it a significant contribution to Australian literature.

• Short story

								
“I'd been away from home for eight years,” said Mitchell to his mate,
as they dropped their swags in the mulga shade and sat down. “I hadn't
written a letter--kept putting it off, and a blundering fool of a fellow
that got down the day before me told the old folks that he'd heard I was
dead.”

Here he took a pull at his water-bag.

“When I got home they were all in mourning for me. It was night, and the
girl that opened the door screamed and fainted away like a shot.”

He lit his pipe.

“Mother was upstairs howling and moaning in a chair, with all the girls
boo-hoo-ing round her for company. The old man was sitting in the back
kitchen crying to himself.”

He put his hat down on the ground, dinted in the crown, and poured some
water into the hollow for his cattle-pup.

“The girls came rushing down. Mother was so pumped out that she couldn't
get up. They thought at first I was a ghost, and then they all tried to
get holt of me at once--nearly smothered me. Look at that pup! You want
to carry a tank of water on a dry stretch when you've got a pup that
drinks as much as two men.”

He poured a drop more water into the top of his hat.

“Well, mother screamed and nearly fainted when she saw me. Such a picnic
you never saw. They kept it up all night. I thought the old cove was
gone off his chump. The old woman wouldn't let go my hand for three
mortal hours. Have you got the knife?”

He cut up some more tobacco.

“All next day the house was full of neighbours, and the first to come
was an old sweetheart of mine; I never thought she cared for me till
then. Mother and the girls made me swear never to go away any more; and
they kept watching me, and hardly let me go outside for fear I'd--”

“Get drunk?”

“No--you're smart--for fear I'd clear. At last I swore on the Bible that
I'd never leave home while the old folks were alive; and then mother
seemed easier in her mind.”

He rolled the pup over and examined his feet. “I expect I'll have to
carry him a bit--his feet are sore. Well, he's done pretty well this
morning, and anyway he won't drink so much when he's carried.”

“You broke your promise about leaving home,” said his mate.

Mitchell stood up, stretched himself, and looked dolefully from his
heavy swag to the wide, hot, shadeless cotton-bush plain ahead.

“Oh, yes,” he yawned, “I stopped at home for a week, and then they began
to growl because I couldn't get any work to do.”

The mate guffawed and Mitchell grinned. They shouldered the swags, with
the pup on top of Mitchell's, took up their billies and water-bags,
turned their unshaven faces to the wide, hazy distance, and left the
timber behind them.
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