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On Our Selection by Steele Rudd
page 75 of 167 (44%)
was the first time he had been asked anywhere, and he began to practise
vigorously. The evening before the ball Dad sent him to put the draught
horses in the top paddock. He went off merrily with them. The sun was
just going down when he let them go, and save the noise of the birds
settling to rest the paddock was quiet. Dave was filled with emotion and
enthusiastic thoughts about the ball.

He threw the winkers down and looked around. For a moment or two he stood
erect, then he bowed gracefully to the saplings on his right, then to the
stumps and trees on his left, and humming a tune, ambled across a small
patch of ground that was bare and black, and pranced back again. He
opened his arms and, clasping some beautiful imaginary form in them, swung
round and round like a windmill. Then he paused for breath, embraced his
partner again, and "galloped" up and down. And young Johnson, who had
been watching him in wonder from behind a fence, bolted for our place.

"Mrs. Rudd! Mrs. Rudd!" he shouted from the verandah. Mother went out.

"Wot's--wot's up with Dave?"

Mother turned pale.

"There's SOMETHING--!"

"My God!" Mother exclaimed--" WHATEVER has happened?"

Young Johnson hesitated. He was in doubt.

"Oh! What IS it?" Mother moaned.

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