and Brown's and old Mother
Murphy's cows out of it, and chased goannas away from the front door
the same as Dad used to do--for Joe felt that he was in Dad's place,
and postponed his customary familiarities with the goannas.

It was while Joe was in charge that Casey came to our place. A
starved-looking, toothless little old man with a restless eye,
talkative, ragged and grey; he walked with a bend in his back (not a
hump), and carried his chin in the air. We never saw a man like him
before. He spoke rapidly, too, and watched us all as he talked. Not
exactly a "traveller;" he carried no swag or billycan, and wore a pair
of boots much too large. He seemed to have been "well brought up"--he
took off his hat at the door and bowed low to Mother and Sal, who were
sitting inside, sewing. They gave a start and stared. The dog, lying
at Mother's feet, rose and growled. Bluey was n't used to the ways of
people well brought up.

The world had dealt harshly with Casey, and his story went to Mother's
heart. "God buless y'," he said when she told him he could have some
dinner; "but I'll cut y' wood for it; oh, I'll cut y' wood!" And he
went to the wood-heap and started work. A big heap and a blunt axe;
but it did n't matter to Casey. He worked hard, and did n't stare
about, and did n't reduce the heap much, either; and when Sal called
him to dinner he could n't hear--he was too busy. Joe had to go and
bring him away.

Casey sat at the table and looked up at the holes in the roof, through
which the sun was shining.

"Ought t' be a cool house," he remarked.

Mother said it was.

"Quite a bush house."

"Oh, yes," Mother said--"we're right in the bush here."

He began to eat and, as he ate, talked cheerfully of selections and
crops and old times and bad times and wire fences and dead cattle.
Casey was a versatile ancient. When he was finished he shifted to the
sofa and asked Mother how many children she had. Mother considered and
said, "Twelve." He thought a dozen enough for anyone, and, said that
HIS mother, when he left home, had twenty-one--all girls but him. That
was forty years ago, and he did n't know how many she had since.
Mother and Sal smiled. They began to like old Casey.

Casey took up his hat and went outside, and did n't say "Good-day" or
"Thanks" or anything. He did n't go away, either. He looked about the
yard. A panel in the fence was broken. It had been broken for five
years. Casey seeme