Next morning Joe had been to the new fence for the axe for Dad, and was
off again as fast as he could run, when he remembered something and called
out, "Dad, old B-B-Bob's just over there, lyin' down in the gully."

Dad started up. "It's 'im all right--I w-w-would n'ter noticed, only
Prince s-s-smelt him."

"Quick and show me where!" Dad said.

Joe showed him.

"My God!" and Dad stood and stared. Old Bob it was--dead. Dead as Moses.

"Poor old Bob!" Dad said. "Poor-old-fellow!" Joe asked what could have
killed him? "Poor-old-Bob!"

Dave brought the dray, and we took him to the house--or what remained of it.

Dad could n't make out the cause of death--perhaps it was lightning. He
held a POST-MORTEM, and, after thinking hard for a long while, told Mother
he was certain, anyway, that old Bob would never get up again. It was a
change to have a dead man about the place, and we were very pleased to be
first to tell anyone who did n't know the news about old Bob.

We planted him on his own selection beneath a gum-tree, where for years
and years a family of jackasses nightly roosted, Dad remarking: "As there
MIGHT be a chance of his hearin', it'll be company for the poor old cove."