ave's Snakebite.

One hot day, as we were finishing dinner, a sheriff's bailiff rode up
to the door. Norah saw him first. She was dressed up ready to go over
to Mrs. Anderson's to tea. Sometimes young Harrison had tea at
Anderson's--Thursdays, usually. This was Thursday; and Norah was
starting early, because it was "a good step of a way".

She reported the visitor. Dad left the table, munching some bread, and
went out to him. Mother looked out of the door; Sal went to the
window; Little Bill and Tom peeped through a crack; Dave remained at
his dinner; and Joe knavishly seized the opportunity of exploring the
table for leavings, finally seating himself in Dad's place, and
commencing where Dad had left off.

"Jury summons," said the meek bailiff, extracting a paper from his
breast-pocket, and reading, "Murtagh Joseph Rudd, selector, Shingle
Hut...Correct?"

Dad nodded assent.

"Got any water?"

There was n't a drop in the cask, so Dad came in and asked Mother if
there was any tea left. She pulled a long, solemn, Sunday-school face,
and looked at Joe, who was holding the teapot upside-down, shaking the
tea-leaves into his cup.

"Tea, Dad?" he chuckled--"by golly!"

Dad did n't think it worth while going out to the bailiff again. He
sent Joe.

"Not any at all?"

"Nothink," said Joe.

"H'm! Nulla bona, eh?" And the Law smiled at its own joke and went off
thirsty.

Thus it was that Dad came to be away one day when his great presence of
mind and ability as a bush doctor was most required at Shingle Hut.

Dave took Dad's place at the plough. One of the horses--a colt that
Dad bought with the money he got for helping with Anderson's crop--had
only just been broken. He was bad at starting. When touched with the
rein he would stand and wait until the old furrow-horse put in a few
steps; then plunge to get ahead of him, and if a chain or a
swingle-tree or something else did n't break, and Dave kept the plough
in, he ripped and tore along in style, bearing in and bearing out, and
knocking the old horse about till that much-enduring animal became as
cranky as himself, and the pace terrible. Down would go the
plough-handles, and, with one tremendous pull on the reins, Dave would
haul them back on to their rumps. Then he would rush up and kick the
colt on the root of the tail, and if that did n't make him put his leg
over the chains and kick till he ran a hook into his heel and lamed
himself, or broke