O’Connor’s farm lay two miles away, in a dark valley between hills covered with gum trees.  There was no gate leading into it: only heavy slip-rails, fitting into rusty horse shoes nailed to posts on either side.  Like their own farm, it had scarcely any homestead track: they bumped over tussocks and rough ground, and wriggled a tortuous way round logs and clumps of scrub.  ’Possum and her father nearly always rode; and the children walked two miles across the paddocks to the little Bush school.  There were few wheel-marks on O’Connor’s land.