"My! it'll be a stinger to-night," Dad remarked to Mrs. Brown--who sat,
cold-looking, on the sofa--as he staggered inside with an immense log for
the fire. A log! Nearer a whole tree! But wood was nothing in Dad's eyes.

Mrs. Brown had been at our place five or six days. Old Brown called
occasionally to see her, so we knew they could n't have quarrelled.
Sometimes she did a little house-work, but more often she did n't. We
talked it over together, but could n't make it out. Joe asked Mother,
but she had no idea--so she said. We were full up, as Dave put it, of
Mrs. Brown, and wished her out of the place. She had taken to ordering us
about, as though she had something to do with us.

After supper we sat round the fire--as near to it as we could without
burning ourselves--Mrs. Brown and all, and listened to the wind whistling
outside. Ah, it was pleasant beside the fire listening to the wind! When
Dad had warmed himself back and front he turned to us and said:

"Now, boys, we must go directly and light some fires and keep those
wallabies back."

That was a shock to us, and we looked at him to see if he were really in
earnest. He was, and as serious as a judge.

" TO-NIGHT!" Dave answered, surprisedly--"why to-night any more than last
night or the night before? Thought you had decided to let them rip?"

"Yes, but we might as well keep them off a bit longer."

"But there's no wheat there for them to get now. So what's the good of