Something in Dad's throat prevented him saying what he wished, so he
rushed at Dan with the hoe, but--was too slow.

Dan slept outside that night.

No sooner was the grain sown than it rained. How it rained! for weeks!
And in the midst of it all the corn came up--every grain-and proved Dwyer
a bad prophet. Dad was in high spirits and promised each of us
something--new boots all round.

The corn continued to grow--so did our hopes, but a lot faster. Pulling
the suckers and "heeling it up" with hoes was but child's play--we liked it.
Our thoughts were all on the boots; 'twas months months since we had pulled
on a pair. Every night, in bed, we decided twenty times over whether they
would be lace-ups or bluchers, and Dave had a bottle of "goanna" oil ready
to keep his soft with.

Dad now talked of going up country--as Mother put it, "to keep the wolf
from the door"--while the four acres of corn ripened. He went, and
returned on the day Tom and Bill were born--twins. Maybe his absence did
keep the wolf from the door, but it did n't keep the dingoes from the
fowl-house!

Once the corn ripened it did n't take long to pull it, but Dad had to put
on his considering-cap when we came to the question of getting it in.
To hump it in bags seemed inevitable till Dwyer asked Dad to give him a
hand to put up a milking-yard. Then Dad's chance came, and he seized it.

Dwyer, in return for Dad's labour, carted in the corn and took it to the
railway-station when it was shelled. Yes, when it WAS shelled! We had to