what was more, if it was in the
dead of the night he could do it just the same. People said he was as
good as a blackfellow, but I never saw one that was as good as he was,
all round. In a strange country, too. That was what beat me--he'd know
the way the creek run, and noticed when the cattle headed to camp, and
a lot of things that other people couldn't see, or if they did, couldn't
remember again. He was a great man for solitary walks, too--he and an
old dog he had, called Crib, a cross-bred mongrel-looking brute, most
like what they call a lurcher in England, father said. Anyhow, he could
do most anything but talk. He could bite to some purpose, drive cattle
or sheep, catch a kangaroo, if it wasn't a regular flyer, fight like a
bulldog, and swim like a retriever, track anything, and fetch and carry,
but bark he wouldn't. He'd stand and look at dad as if he worshipped
him, and he'd make him some sign and off he'd go like a child that's got
a message. Why he was so fond of the old man we boys couldn't make out.
We were afraid of him, and as far as we could see he never patted or
made much of Crib. He thrashed him unmerciful as he did us boys. Still
the dog was that fond of him you'd think he'd like to die for him there
and then. But dogs are not like boys, or men either--better, perhaps.

Well, we were all born at the hut by the creek, I suppose, for I
remember it as soon as I could remember anything. It was a snug hut
enough, for father was a good bush carpenter, and didn't turn his
back to any one for splitting and fencing, hut-building and
shingle-splitting; he had had a year or two at sawing, too, but after
he was married he dropped that. But I've heard mother say that he took
great pride in the hut when he brought her to it first, and said it was
the best-built hut within fifty miles. He split every slab, cut every
post and wallplate and rafter himself, with a man to help him at odd
times; and after the frame was up, and the bark on the roof, he camped
underneath and finished every bit of it--chimney, flooring, doors,
windows, and partitions--by himself. Then he dug up a little garden
in front, and planted a dozen or two peaches and quinces in it; put a
couple of roses--a red and a white one--by the posts of the verandah,
and it was all ready for his pretty Norah, as she says he used to call
her then. If I've heard her tell about the garden and the quince trees
and the two roses once, I've heard her tell it a hun