s no such sentiment in Dad. He was thinking how his long
years of toil and worry had been rewarded again and again by
disappointment--wondering if ever there would be a turn in his luck,
and how he was going to get enough out of the land that season to pay
interest and keep Mother and us in bread and meat.

At last he spoke, or rather muttered disjointedly, "Plen-ty--to eat--in
the safe." Then suddenly, in a strange and hollow voice, he shouted,
"THEY' RE DEAD--ALL OF THEN! I STARVED THEM!"

Mother DID get a fright. She screamed. Then Dad jumped up, rubbing
his eyes, and asked what was the matter. Nothing was the matter THEN.
He had dozed and talked in his sleep, that was all; he had n't starved
anyone. Joe did n't jump up when Mother screamed--not altogether; he
raised himself and reached for Dad's pillow, then lay down and snored
serenely till bed-time.

Dad sat gloomily by the fire and meditated. Mother spoke pleadingly to
him and asked him not to fret. He ran his fingers uneasily through his
hair and spat in the ashes. "Don't fret? When there's not a bit to
eat in the place--when there's no way of getting anything, and
when--merciful God!--every year sees things worse than they were
before."

"It's only fancy," Mother went on. "And you've been brooding and
brooding till it seems far worse than it really is."

"It's no fancy, Ellen." Then, after a pause--"Was the thirty acres of
wheat that did n't come up fancy? Is it only fancy that we've lost
nearly every beast in the paddock? Was the drought itself a fancy?
No--no." And he shook his head sadly and stared again into the fire.

Dad's inclination was to leave the selection, but Mother pleaded for
another trial of it--just one more. She had wonderful faith in the
selection, had Mother. She pleaded until the fire burned low, then Dad
rose and said: "Well, we'll try it once more with corn, and if nothing
comes of it why then we MUST give it up." Then he took the spade and
raked the fire together and covered it with ashes--we always covered
the fire over before going to bed so as to keep it alight. Some
mornings, though, it would be out, when one of us would have to go
across to Anderson's and borrow a fire-stick. Any of us but Joe--he
was sent only once, and on that occasion he stayed at Anderson's to
breakfast, and on his way back successfully burnt out two grass
paddocks belonging to a J.P.

So we began to prepare the soil for another crop