When Mother was sick and Dad's time was mostly taken up nursing her; when
there was nothing, scarcely, in the house; when, in fact, the wolf was at
the very door;--Dan came home with a pocket full of money and swag full of
greasy clothes. How Dad shook him by the hand and welcomed him back!
And how Dan talked of "tallies", "belly-wool", and "ringers" and implored
Dad, over and over again, to go shearing, or rolling up, or branding--
ANYTHING rather than work and starve on the selection.

That's fifteen years ago, and Dad is still on the farm.




Chapter V.



The Night We Watched For Wallabies.


It had been a bleak July day, and as night came on a bitter westerly howled
through the trees. Cold! was n't it cold! The pigs in the sty, hungry
and half-fed (we wanted for ourselves the few pumpkins that had survived
the drought) fought savagely with each other for shelter, and squealed all
the time like--well, like pigs. The cows and calves left the place to
seek shelter away in the mountains; while the draught horses, their hair
standing up like barbed-wire, leaned sadly over the fence and gazed up at
the green lucerne. Joe went about shivering in an old coat of Dad's with
only one sleeve to it--a calf had fancied the other one day that Dad hung
it on a post as a mark to go by while ploughing.