his plate the second time for more, said it was n't often he got
any poultry.

He tramped on again, and the girls were very glad he did n't know it was
a rat. But Dave was n't so sure that he did n't know a rat from a
rooster, and reckoned he had n't met Dad at all.

The seventh week Dad came back. He arrived at night, and the lot of us
had to get up to find the hammer to knock the peg out of the door and let
him in. He brought home three pounds--not enough to get the wire with,
but he also brought a horse and saddle. He did n't say if he bought them.
It was a bay mare, a grand animal for a journey--so Dad said--and only
wanted condition. Emelina, he called her. No mistake, she was a quiet
mare! We put her where there was good feed, but she was n't one that
fattened on grass. Birds took kindly to her--crows mostly--and she
could n't go anywhere but a flock of them accompanied her. Even when Dad
used to ride her (Dan or Dave never rode her) they used to follow, and
would fly on ahead to wait in a tree and "caw" when he was passing beneath.

One morning when Dan was digging potatoes for dinner--splendid potatoes
they were, too, Dad said; he had only once tasted sweeter ones, but they
were grown in a cemetery--he found the kangaroos had been in the barley.
We knew what THAT meant, and that night made fires round it, thinking to
frighten them off, but did n't--mobs of them were in at daybreak. Dad
swore from the house at them, but they took no notice; and when he ran
down, they just hopped over the fence and sat looking at him. Poor Dad!
I do n't know if he was knocked up or if he did n't know any more, but he
stopped swearing and sat on a stump looking at a patch of barley they had
destroyed, and shaking his head. Perhaps he was thinking if he only had
a dog! We did have one until he got a bait. Old Crib! He was lying