Dance! they did dance!--until sun-rise. But unless you were dancing you
could n't stay inside, because the floor broke up, and talk about
dust!--before morning the room was like a drafting-yard.

It was a great wedding; and though years have since passed, all the
neighbours say still it was the best they were ever at.




Chapter XIII.



The Summer Old Bob Died.


It was a real scorcher. A soft, sweltering summer's day. The air
quivered; the heat drove the fowls under the dray and sent the old dog to
sleep upon the floor inside the house. The iron on the skillion cracked
and sweated--so did Dad and Dave down the paddock, grubbing--grubbing, in
130 degrees of sunshine. They were clearing a piece of new land--a
heavily-timbered box-tree flat. They had been at it a fortnight, and if
any music was in the ring of the axe or the rattle of the pick when
commencing, there was none now.

Dad wished to be cheerful and complacent. He said (putting the pick down
and dragging his flannel off to wring it): "It's a good thing to sweat
well." Dave did n't say anything. I don't know what he thought, but he
looked up at Dad--just looked up at him--while the perspiration filled his