On Our Selection

  Chapter XXI.

  The Parson and the Scone.

  It was dinner-time. And were n't we hungry!--particularly Joe! He waskept from school that day to fork up hay-work hard enough for aman--too hard for some men--but in many things Joe was more than aman's equal. Eating was one of them. We were all silent. Joe ateravenously. The meat and pumpkin disappeared, and the pile of hotscones grew rapidly less. Joe regarded it with anxiety. He stole slyglances at Dad and at Dave and made a mental calculation. Then hefixed his eyes longingly on the one remaining scone, and ate faster andfaster....Still silence. Joe glanced again at Dad.

  The dogs outside barked. Those inside, lying full-stretch beneath thetable, instantly darted up and rushed out. One of them carried offlittle Bill--who was standing at the table with his legs spread outand a pint of tea in his hand--as far as the door on its back, andthere scraped him off and spilled tea over him. Dad spoke. He said,"Damn the dogs!" Then he rose and looked out the window. We allrose--all except Joe. Joe reached for the last scone.

  A horseman dismounted at the slip-rails.

  "Some stranger," Dad muttered, turning to re-seat himself.

  "Why, it's--it's the minister!" Sal cried--"the minister that marriedKate!"

  Dad nearly fell over. "Good God!" was all he said, and staredhopelessly at Mother. The minister--for sure enough it was the Rev.Daniel Macpherson--was coming in. There was commotion. Dave finishedhis tea at a gulp, put on his hat, and left by the back-door. Dadwould have followed, but hesitated, and so was lost. Mother wasrestless--"on pins and needles."

  "And there ain't a bite to offer him," she cried, dancing hystericallyabout the table--"not a bite; nor a plate, nor a knife, nor a fork toeat it with!" There was humour in Mother at times. It came from thefather's side. He was a dentist.

  Only Joe was unconcerned. He was employed on the last scone. Hecommenced it slowly. He wished it to last till night. His mouthopened and received it fondly. He buried his teeth in it and lingeredlovingly over it. Mother's eyes happened to rest on him. Her facebrightened. She flew at Joe and cried:

  "Give me that scone!--put it back on the table this minute!"

  Joe became concerned. He was about to protest. Mother seized him bythe hair (which had n't been cut since Dan went shearing) and hissed:

  "Put--it--back--sir!" Joe put it back.

  The minister came in. Dad said he was pleased to see him--poorDad!--and enquired if he had had dinner. The parson had not, but saidhe did n't want any, and implored Mother not to put herself about onhis account. He only required a cup of tea--nothing else whatever.Mother was delighted, and got the tea gladly. Still she was notsatisfied. She would be hospitable. She said:

  "Won't you try a scone with it, Mr. Macpherson?" And the parson said hewould--"just one."

  Mother passed the rescued scone along, and awkwardly apologised for theabsence of plates. She explained that the Andersons were threshingtheir wheat, and had borrowed all our crockery andcutlery--everybody's, in fact, in the neighbourhood--for the use of themen. Such was the custom round our way. But the minister did n'tmind. On the contrary, he commended everybody for fellowship andgood-feeling, and felt sure that the district would be rewarded.

  It took the Rev. Macpherson no time to polish off the scone. When thelast of it was disappearing Mother became uneasy again. So did Dad.He stared through the window at the parson's sleepy-looking horse,fastened to the fence. Dad wished to heaven it would break away, ordrop dead, or do anything to provide him with an excuse to run out.But it was a faithful steed. It stood there leaning on its foreheadagainst a post. There was a brief silence.

  Then the minister joked about his appetite--at which only Joe couldafford to smile--and asked, "May I trouble you for just another scone?"

  Mother muttered something like "Yes, of course," and went out to thekitchen just as if there had been some there. Dad was veryuncomfortable. He patted the floor with the flat of his foot andwondered what would happen next. Nothing happened for a good while.The minister sipped and sipped his tea till none was left...

  Dad said: "I'll see what's keeping her," and rose--glad if ever manwas glad--to get away. He found Mother seated on the ironbark table inthe kitchen. They did n't speak. They looked at each othersympathisingly.

  "Well?" Dad whispered at last; "what are you going to do?" Mothershook her head. She did n't know.

  "Tell him straight there ain't any, an' be done with it," was Dad'scheerful advice. Mother several times approached the door, buthesitated and returned again.

  "What are you afraid of?" Dad would ask; "he won't eat y'." Finally shewent in.

  Then Dad tiptoed to the door and listened. He was listening eagerlywhen a lump of earth--a piece of the cultivation paddock--felldangerously near his feet. It broke and scattered round him, andrattled inside against the papered wall. Dad jumped round. A row ofjackasses on a tree near by laughed merrily. Dad looked up. Theystopped. Another one laughed clearly from the edge of the tall corn.Dad turned his head. It was Dave. Dad joined him, and they watchedthe parson mount his horse and ride away.

  Dad drew a deep and grateful breath. "Thank God!" he said.