when Joe said:

"I say, Dad, what's a nater-dog like?" Dad told him: "Yellow, sharp ears
and bushy tail."

"Those muster bin some then thet I seen--I do n't know 'bout the bushy
tail--all th' hair had comed off." "Where'd y' see them, Joe?" we asked.
"Down 'n th' springs floating about--dead."

Then everyone seemed to think hard and look at the tea. I did n't want
any more. Dan jumped off the sofa and went outside; and Dad looked after
Mother.

At last the four acres--excepting the biggest of the iron-bark trees and
about fifty stumps--were pretty well cleared; and then came a problem that
could n't be worked-out on a draught-board. I have already said that we
had n't any draught horses; indeed, the only thing on the selection like
a horse was an old "tuppy" mare that Dad used to straddle. The date of
her foaling went further back than Dad's, I believe; and she was shaped
something like an alderman. We found her one day in about eighteen inches
of mud, with both eyes picked out by the crows, and her hide bearing
evidence that a feathery tribe had made a roost of her carcase. Plainly,
there was no chance of breaking up the ground with her help. We had no
plough, either; how then was the corn to be put in? That was the question.

Dan and Dave sat outside in the corner of the chimney, both scratching the
ground with a chip and not saying anything. Dad and Mother sat inside
talking it over. Sometimes Dad would get up and walk round the room
shaking his head; then he would kick old Crib for lying under the table.
At last Mother struck something which brightened him up, and he called Dave.