e and growled.

"Seen any cattle round here?" Dad asked.

"No," the man said, and grinned.

"Did n't notice a red heifer?"

"No," grinning more.

The kangaroo-pup left the tree and sniffed at Ned's heels.

"Won't kick, will he?" said the man.

The young fellow broke into a loud laugh and fell off the log.

"No," Dad replied--"he's PERFECTLY quiet."

"He LOOKS quiet."

The young fellow took a fit of coughing.

After a pause. "Well, you did n't see any about, then?" and Dad
wheeled Ned round to go away.

"No, I DID N'T, old man," the other answered, and snatched hold of
Ned's tail and hung back with all his might. Ned grunted and strained
and tore the ground up with his toes; Dad spurred and leathered him
with a strap, looking straight ahead. The man hung on. "Come 'long,"
Dad said. The pup barked. "COME 'long with YER!" Dad said. The young
fellow fell off the log again. Ned's tail cracked. Dad hit him
between the ears. The tail cracked again. A piece of it came off;
then Ned stumbled and went on his head. "What the DEVIL----!" Dad
said, looking round. But only the young fellow was laughing.

Nell was different from Ned. She was a bay, with yellow flanks and a
lump under her belly; a bright eye, lop ears, and heavy, hairy legs.
She was a very wise mare. It was wonderful how much she know. She
knew when she was wanted; and she would go away the night before and
get lost. And she knew when she was n't wanted; then she'd hang about
the back-door licking a hole in the ground where the dish-water was
thrown, or fossicking at the barn for the corn Dad had hidden, or
scratching her neck or her rump against the cultivation paddock
slip-rails. She always scratched herself against those
slip-rails--sometimes for hours--always until they fell down. Then
she'd walk in and eat. And how she COULD eat!

As a hack, Nell was unreliable. You could n't reckon with certainty on
getting her to start. All depended on the humour she was in and the
direction you wished to take--mostly the direction. If towards the
grass-paddock or the dam, she was off helter-skelter. If it was n't,
she'd go on strike--put her head down and chew the bit. Then, when
you'd get to work on her with a waddy--which we always did--she'd walk
backwards into the house and frighten Mother, or into the waterhole and
dirty the water. Dad said it was the fault of the cove who broke her
in. Dad was a just man. The "cove" was a unio