Chapter XI.
A Splendid Year For Corn.
We had just finished supper. Supper! dry bread and sugarless tea. Dadwas tired out and was resting at one end of the sofa; Joe was stretchedat the other, without a pillow, and his legs tangled up among Dad's.Bill and Tom squatted in the ashes, while Mother tried to put thefat-lamp into burning order by poking it with a table-fork.
Dad was silent; he seemed sad, and lay for some time gazing at theroof. He might have been watching the blaze of the glorious moon orcounting the stars through the gaps in the shingles, but he wasn't--there was no such sentiment in Dad. He was thinking how his longyears of toil and worry had been rewarded again and again bydisappointment--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 payinterest and keep Mother and us in bread and meat.
At last he spoke, or rather muttered disjointedly, "Plen-ty--to eat--inthe 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, rubbinghis 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 starvedanyone. Joe did n't jump up when Mother screamed--not altogether; heraised himself and reached for Dad's pillow, then lay down and snoredserenely till bed-time.
Dad sat gloomily by the fire and meditated. Mother spoke pleadingly tohim and asked him not to fret. He ran his fingers uneasily through hishair and spat in the ashes. "Don't fret? When there's not a bit toeat in the place--when there's no way of getting anything, andwhen--merciful God!--every year sees things worse than they werebefore."
"It's only fancy," Mother went on. "And you've been brooding andbrooding till it seems far worse than it really is."
"It's no fancy, Ellen." Then, after a pause--"Was the thirty acres ofwheat that did n't come up fancy? Is it only fancy that we've lostnearly 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 foranother trial of it--just one more. She had wonderful faith in theselection, had Mother. She pleaded until the fire burned low, then Dadrose and said: "Well, we'll try it once more with corn, and if nothingcomes of it why then we MUST give it up." Then he took the spade andraked the fire together and covered it with ashes--we always coveredthe fire over before going to bed so as to keep it alight. Somemornings, though, it would be out, when one of us would have to goacross to Anderson's and borrow a fire-stick. Any of us but Joe--hewas sent only once, and on that occasion he stayed at Anderson's tobreakfast, and on his way back successfully burnt out two grasspaddocks belonging to a J.P.
So we began to prepare the soil for another crop of corn, and Dadstarted over the same old ground with the same old plough. How Iremember that old, screwed and twisted plough! The land was very hard,and the horses out of condition. We wanted a furrow-horse. Smith hadone--a good one. "Put him in the furrow," he said to Dad, "and youcan't PULL him out of it." Dad wished to have such a horse. Smithoffered to exchange for our roan saddle mare--one we found running inthe lane, and advertised as being in our paddock, and no one claimedit. Dad exchanged.
He yoked the new horse to the plough, and it took to the furrowsplendidly--but that was all; it did n't take to anything else. Dadgripped the handles--"Git up!" he said, and tapped Smith's horse withthe rein. Smith's horse pranced and marked time well, but did n'ttighten the chains. Dad touched him again. Then he stood on hisfore-legs and threw about a hundredweight of mud that clung to hisheels at Dad's head. That aggravated Dad, and he seized theplough-scraper, and, using both hands, calmly belted Smith's horse overthe ribs for two minutes, by the sun. He tried him again. The horsethrew himself down in the furrow. Dad took the scraper again, weltedhim on the rump, dug it into his back-bone, prodded him in the side,then threw it at him disgustedly. Then Dad sat down awhile andbreathed heavily. He rose again and pulled Smith's horse by the head.He was pulling hard when Dave and Joe came up. Joe had a bow-and-arrowin his hand, and said, "He's a good furrer 'orse, eh, Dad? Smith SAIDyou could n't pull him out of it."
Shall I ever forget the look on Dad's face! He brandished the scraperand sprang wildly at Joe and yelled, "Damn y', you WHELP! what do youwant here?"
Joe left. The horse lay in the furrow. Blood was dropping from itsmouth. Dave pointed it out, and Dad opened the brute's jaws andexamined them. No teeth were there. He looked on the ground roundabout--none there either. He looked at the horse's mouth again, thenhit him viciously with his clenched fist and said, "The old ----, henever DID have any!" At length he unharnessed the brute as itlay--pulled the winkers off, hurled them at its head, kicked itonce--twice--three times--and the furrow-horse jumped up, trotted awaytriumphantly, and joyously rolled in the dam where all our water camefrom, drinking-water included.
Dad went straightaway to Smith's place, and told Smith he was a dirty,mean, despicable swindler--or something like that. Smith smiled. Dadput one leg through the slip-rails and promised Smith, if he'd onlycome along, to split palings out of him. But Smith did n't. Theinstinct of self-preservation must have been deep in that man Smith.Then Dad went home and said he would shoot the ---- horse there andthen, and went looking for the gun. The horse died in the paddock ofold age, but Dad never ploughed with him again.
Dad followed the plough early and late. One day he was giving thehorses a spell after some hours' work, when Joe came to say that apoliceman was at the house wanting to see him. Dad thought of the roanmare, and Smith, and turned very pale. Joe said: "There's "Q.P." onhis saddle-cloth; what's that for, Dad?" But he did n't answer--he wasthinking hard. "And," Joe went on, "there's somethin' sticking out ofhis pocket--Dave thinks it'll be 'ancuffs." Dad shuddered. On the wayto the house Joe wished to speak about the policeman, but Dad seemed tohave lock-jaw. When he found the officer of the law only wanted to knowthe number of stock he owned, he talked freely--he was delighted. Hesaid, "Yes, sir," and "No, sir," and "Jusso, sir," to everything thepoliceman said.
Dad wished to learn some law. He said: "Now, tell me this: supposinga horse gets into my paddock--or into your paddock--and I advertisethat horse and nobody claims him, can't I put my brand on him?" Thepoliceman jerked back his head and stared at the shingles long enoughto recall all the robberies he had committed, and said: "Yecan--that's so--ye can."
"I knew it," answered Dad; "but a lawyer in town told Maloney, overthere, y' could n't."
"COULD N'T?" And the policeman laughed till he nearly had the housedown, only stopping to ask, while the tears ran over his well-fedcheeks, "Did he charge him forrit?" and laughed again. He went awaylaughing, and for all I know the wooden-head may be laughing yet.
Everything was favourable to a good harvest. The rain fell just whenit was wanted, and one could almost see the corn growing. How itencouraged Dad, and what new life it seemed to give him! In the coolof the evenings he would walk along the headlands and admire theforming cobs, and listen to the rustling of the rows of drooping bladesas they swayed and beat against each other in the breeze. Then hewould go home filled with fresh hopes and talk of nothing but the goodprospect of that crop.
And how we worked! Joe was the only one who played. I remember himfinding something on a chain one day. He had never seen anything likeit before. Dad told him it was a steel-trap and explained the workingof it. Joe was entranced--an invaluable possession! A treasure, hefelt, that the Lord must specially have sent him to catch things with.He caught many things with it--willie-wagtails, laughing-jackasses,fowls, and mostly the dog. Joe was a born naturalist--a perfectMcCooey in his way, and a close observer of the habits and customs ofanimals and living things. He observed that whenever Jacob Lipp cameto our place he always, when going home, ran along the fence andtouched the top of every post with his hand. The Lipps had newlyarrived fro
m Germany, and their selection adjoined ours. Jacob wastheir "eldest", about fourteen, and a fat, jabbering, jolly-faced youthhe was. He often came to our place and followed Joe about. Joe nevercared much for the company of anyone younger than himself, andtherefore fiercely resented the indignity. Jacob could speak onlyGerman--Joe understood only pure unadulterated Australian. Still Jacobinsisted on talking and telling Joe his private affairs.
This day, Mrs. Lipp accompanied Jacob. She came to have a "yarn" withMother. They did n't understand each other either; but it did n'tmatter much to them--it never does matter much to women whether theyunderstand or not; anyway, they laughed most of the time and seemed toenjoy themselves greatly. Outside Jacob and Joe mixed up in anargument. Jacob shoved his face close to Joe's and gesticulated andtalked German at the rate of two hundred words a minute. Joe thoughthe understood him and said: "You want to fight?" Jacob seemed to havea nightmare in German.
"Orright, then," Joe said, and knocked him down.
Jacob seemed to understand Australian better when he got up, for he raninside, and Joe put his ear to a crack, but did n't hear him tellMother.
Joe had an idea. He would set the steel-trap on a wire-post and catchJacob. He set it. Jacob started home. One, two, three posts he hit.Then he hit the trap. It grabbed him faithfully by three fingers.
Angels of Love! did ever a boy of fourteen yell like it before! Hesprang in the air--threw himself on the ground like a ropedbrumby--jumped up again and ran all he knew, frantically wringing thehand the trap clung to. What Jacob reckoned had hold of him Heavenonly can tell. His mother thought he must have gone mad and ran afterhim. Our Mother fairly tore after her. Dad and Dave left a dray-loadof corn and joined in the hunt. Between them they got Jacob down andtook him out of the trap. Dad smashed the infernal machine, and thenwent to look for Joe. But Joe was n't about.
The corn shelled out 100 bags--the best crop we had ever had; but whenDad came to sell it seemed as though every farmer in every farmingdistrict on earth had had a heavy crop, for the market wasglutted--there was too much corn in Egypt--and he could get no pricefor it. At last he was offered Ninepence ha'penny per bushel,delivered at the railway station. Ninepence ha'penny per bushel,delivered at the railway station! Oh, my country! and fivepence perbushel out of that to a carrier to take it there! AUSTRALIA, MY MOTHER!
Dad sold--because he could n't afford to await a better market; andwhen the letter came containing a cheque in payment, he made acalculation, then looked pitifully at Mother, and muttered--"SEVENPOUN'S TEN!"