out
for them. He might as well have started off the cross the continent.
A hailstone, large enough to kill a cow, fell with a thud a yard or two
in advance of him, and he slewed like a hare and made for the house
also. He was getting it hot. Now and again his hands would go up to
protect his head, but he could n't run that way--he could n't run much
any way.

The others reached the house and watched Dad make from the back-door.
Mother called to him to "Run, run!" Poor Dad! He was running. Paddy
Maloney was joyful. He danced about and laughed vociferously at the
hail bouncing off Dad. Once Dad staggered--a hail-boulder had struck
him behind the ear--and he looked like dropping. Paddy hit himself on
the leg, and vehemently invited Dave to "Look, LOOK at him!" But Dad
battled along to the haystack, buried his head in it, and stayed there
till the storm was over--wriggling and moving his feet as though he
were tramping chaff.

Shingles were dislodged from the roof of the house, and huge hailstones
pelted in and put the fire out, and split the table, and fell on the
sofa and the beds.

Rain fell also, but we did n't catch any in the cask--the wind blew the
spout away. It was a curled piece of bark. Nevertheless, the storm
did good. We did n't lose ALL the potatoes. We got SOME out of them.
We had them for dinner one Sunday.

Chapter XXIII.

The Agricultural Reporter.

It had been a dull, miserable day, and a cold westerly was blowing.
Dave and Joe were at the barn finishing up for the day.

Dad was inside grunting and groaning with toothache. He had had it a
week, and was nearly mad. For a while he sat by the fire, prodding the
tooth with his pocket-knife; then he covered his jaw with his hand and
went out and walked about the yard.

Joe asked him if he had seen Nell's foal anywhere that day. He did n't
answer.

"Did y' see the brown foal any place ter-day, Dad?"

"Damn the brown foal!"--and Dad went inside again.

He walked round and round the table and in and out the back room till
Mother nearly cried with pity.

"Is n't it any easier at all, Father?" she said commiseratingly.

"How the devil can it be easier?...Oh-h!"

The kangaroo-dog had coiled himself snugly on a bag before the fire.
Dad kicked him savagely and told him to get out. The dog slunk sulkily
to the door, his tail between his legs, and his back humped as if
expecting another kick. He got it. Dad sat in the ashes