belonging to it. I wondered at the time the beast was killed
why father made the hide into a rope, and before he did that
had cut out the brand and dropped it into a hot fire. The police saw
a hide with our brand on, all right -- killed about a fortnight.
They didn't know it had been taken off a cancered bullock,
and that father took the trouble to `stick' him and bleed him
before he took the hide off, so as it shouldn't look dark.
Father certainly knew most things in the way of working on the cross.
I can see now he'd have made his money a deal easier, and no trouble of mind,
if he'd only chosen to go straight.

When mother said this, father looked at her for a bit
as if he was sorry for it; then he straightened himself up,
and an ugly look came into his face as he growled out --

`You mind your own business; we must live as well as other people.
There's squatters here that does as bad. They're just like
the squires at home; think a poor man hasn't a right to live.
You bring the brand and look alive, Dick, or I'll sharpen ye up a bit.'

The brand was in the corner, but mother got between me and it,
and stretched out her hand to father as if to stop me and him.

`In God's name,' she cried out, `aren't ye satisfied
with losing your own soul and bringing disgrace upon your family,
but ye must be the ruin of your innocent children?
Don't touch the brand, Dick!'

But father wasn't a man to be crossed, and what made it worse
he had a couple of glasses of bad grog in him. There was an old villain