t no man should starve in this country when
there's kangaroos and bears and"--(Joe came and stood beside Dad and
asked him if he was DEAF)--"and goannas and snakes in thousands. Look
here!" (still to the weird man), "you say that farming"--(Mother,
bare-headed, came out and stood beside Joe, and asked Anderson if Mrs.
Anderson had got a nurse yet, and Anderson smiled and said he believed
another son had just arrived, but he had n't seen it)--"that farming
don't pay"--(Sal came along and stood near Mother and asked Anderson
who the baby was like)--"don't pay in this country?"

The man nodded.

"It will pay any man who----"

Interruption.

Anderson's big dog had wandered to the house, and came back with nearly
all that was for supper in his mouth.

Sal squealed.

"DROP IT--DROP IT, Bob!" Anderson shouted, giving chase. Bob dropped
it on the road.

"DAMN IT!" said Dad, glaring at Mother, "wot d' y' ALL want out
'ere?...Y-YOU brute!" (to the dog, calmly licking its lips).

Then Anderson and the two men went away.

But when we had paid sixty pounds to the storekeeper and thirty pounds
in interest; and paid for the seed and the reaping and threshing of the
wheat; and bought three plough-horses, and a hack for Dave; and a
corn-sheller, and a tank, and clothes for us all; and put rations in
the house; and lent Anderson five pounds; and improved Shingle Hut; and
so on; very little of the two hundred pounds was left.

Mother spoke of getting a cow. The children, she said, could n't live
without milk and when Dad heard from Johnson and Dwyer that Eastbrook
dairy cattle were to be sold at auction, he said he would go down and
buy one.

Very early. The stars had scarcely left the sky. There was a lot of
groping and stumbling about the room. Dad and Dave had risen and were
preparing to go to the sale.

I don't remember if the sky was golden or gorgeous at all, or if the
mountain was clothed in mist, or if any fragrance came from the
wattle-trees when they were leaving; but Johnson, without hat or boots,
was picking splinters off the slabs of his hut to start his fire with,
and a mile further on Smith's dog was barking furiously. He was a
famous barker. Smith trained him to it to keep the wallabies off.
Smith used to chain him to a tree in the paddock and hang a piece of
meat to the branches, and leave him there all night.

Dad and Dave rode steadily along and arrived at Eastbrook before
mid-day. The old stat