rnment dam that was
promised, and the splendid grass growing in the paddock; Dan of the
great dry plains, and the shearing-sheds out back, and the chaps he had
met there. And he related in a way that made Dad's eyes glisten and
Joe's mouth open, how, with a knocked-up wrist, he shore beside Proctor
and big Andy Purcell, at Welltown, and rung the shed by half a sheep.

Dad ardently admired Dan.

Dan was only going to stay a short while at home, he said, then was off
West again. Dad tried to persuade him to change his mind; he would
have him remain and help to work the selection. But Dan only shook his
head and laughed.

Dan accompanied Dad to the plough every morning, and walked cheerfully
up and down the furrows all day, talking to him. Sometimes he took a
turn at the plough, and Dad did the talking. Dad just loved Dan's
company.

A few days went by. Dan still accompanied Dad to the plough; but did
n't walk up and down with him. He selected a shade close by, and
talked to Dad from there as he passed on his rounds. Sometimes Dan
used to forget to talk at all--he would be asleep--and Dad would wonder
if he was unwell. Once he advised him to go up to the house and have a
good camp. Dan went. He stretched himself on the sofa, and smoked and
spat on the floor and played the concertina--an old one he won in a
raffle.

Dan did n't go near the plough any more. He stayed inside every day,
and drank the yeast, and provided music for the women. Sometimes he
would leave the sofa, and go to the back-door and look out, and watch
Dad tearing up and down the paddock after the plough; then he'd yawn,
and wonder aloud what the diggins it was the old man saw in a game like
that on a hot day; and return to the sofa, tired. But every evening
when Dad knocked off and brought the horses to the barn Dan went out
and watched him unharnessing them.

A month passed. Dad was n't so fond of Dan now, and Dan never talked
of going away. One day Anderson's cows wandered into our yard and
surrounded the hay-stack. Dad saw them from the paddock and cooeed,
and shouted for those at the house to drive them away. They did n't
hear him. Dad left the plough and ran up and pelted Anderson's cows
with stones and glass-bottles, and pursued them with a pitch-fork till,
in a mad rush to get out, half the brutes fell over the fence and made
havoc with the wire. Dad spent an hour mending it; then went to the
verandah and savagely asked Moth