lear off every
stick and bush where another furrow might be squeezed in. Old Corny
looked pretty grumpy on it--he'd broken all his ploughshares but one, in
the roots; and James didn't look much brighter. Mary had an old felt
hat and a new pair of 'lastic-side boots of mine on, and the boots were
covered with clay, for she'd been down hustling James to get a rotten
old stump out of the way by the time Corny came round with his next
furrow.

'I thought I'd make the boots easy for you, Joe,' said Mary.

'It's all right, Mary,' I said. 'I'm not going to growl.' Those boots
were a bone of contention between us; but she generally got them off
before I got home.

Her face fell a little when she saw the plough and harrow in the waggon,
but I said that would be all right--we'd want a plough anyway.

'I thought you wanted old Corny to plough the ground,' she said.

'I never said so.'

'But when I sent Jim after you about the hoe to put the spuds in, you
didn't say you wouldn't bring it,' she said.

I had a few days at home, and entered into the spirit of the thing. When
Corny was done, James and I cross-ploughed the land, and got a stump or
two, a big log, and some scrub out of the way at the upper end and added
nearly an acre, and ploughed that. James was all right at most Bushwork:
he'd bullock so long as the novelty lasted; he liked ploughing or
fencing, or any graft he could make a show at. He didn't care for
grubbing out stumps, or splitting posts and rails. We sliced the
potatoes of an evening--and there was trouble between Mary and James
over cutting through the 'eyes'. There was no time for the hoe--and
besides it wasn't a novelty to James--so I just ran furrows and they
dropped the spuds in behind me, and I turned another furrow over them,
and ran the harrow over the ground. I think I hilled those spuds, too,
with furrows--or a crop of Indian corn I put in later on.

It rained heavens-hard for over a week: we had regular showers all
through, and it was the finest crop of potatoes ever seen in the
district. I believe at first Mary used to slip down at daybreak to see
if the potatoes were up; and she'd write to me about them, on the road.
I forget how many bags I got; but the few who had grown potatoes in the
district sent theirs to Sydney, and spuds went up to twelve and fifteen
shillings a hundredweight in that district. I made a few quid out of
mine--and saved carriage too, for I could take them out on the wagg