On Our Selection

  Chapter IV.

  When the Wolf was at the Door.

  There had been a long stretch of dry weather, and we were cleaning outthe waterhole. Dad was down the hole shovelling up the dirt; Joesquatted on the brink catching flies and letting them go again withouttheir wings--a favourite amusement of his; while Dan and Dave cut adrain to turn the water that ran off the ridge into the hole--when itrained. Dad was feeling dry, and told Joe to fetch him a drink.

  Joe said: "See first if this cove can fly with only one wing." Then hewent, but returned and said: "There's no water in the bucket--Motherused the last drop to boil th' punkins," and renewed the fly-catching.Dad tried to spit, and was going to say something when Mother, half-waybetween the house and the waterhole, cried out that the grass paddockwas all on fire. "So it is, Dad!" said Joe, slowly but surelydragging the head off a fly with finger and thumb.

  Dad scrambled out of the hole and looked. "Good God!" was all he said.How he ran! All of us rushed after him except Joe--he could n't runvery well, because the day before he had ridden fifteen miles on a poorhorse, bare-back. When near the fire Dad stopped running to break agreen bush. He hit upon a tough one. Dad was in a hurry. The bush wasn't. Dad swore and tugged with all his might. Then the bush broke andDad fell heavily upon his back and swore again.

  To save the cockatoo fence that was round the cultivation was what wastroubling Dad. Right and left we fought the fire with boughs. Hot!It was hellish hot! Whenever there was a lull in the wind we worked.Like a wind-mill Dad's bough moved--and how he rushed for another whenone was used up! Once we had the fire almost under control; but thewind rose again, and away went the flames higher and faster than ever.

  "It's no use," said Dad at last, placing his hand on his head, andthrowing down his bough. We did the same, then stood and watched thefence go. After supper we went out again and saw it still burning. Joeasked Dad if he did n't think it was a splendid sight? Dad did n'tanswer him--he did n't seem conversational that night.

  We decided to put the fence up again. Dan had sharpened the axe with abroken file, and he and Dad were about to start when Mother asked themwhat was to be done about flour? She said she had shaken the bag toget enough to make scones for that morning's breakfast, and unless somewas got somewhere there would be no bread for dinner.

  Dad reflected, while Dan felt the edge on the axe with his thumb.

  Dad said, "Won't Missus Dwyer let you have a dishful until we get some?"

  "No," Mother answered; "I can't ask her until we send back what we owethem."

  Dad reflected again. "The Andersons, then?" he said.

  Mother shook her head and asked what good there was it sending to themwhen they, only that morning, had sent to her for some?

  "Well, we must do the best we can at present," Dad answered, "and I'llgo to the store this evening and see what is to be done."

  Putting the fence up again in the hurry that Dad was in was the verydevil! He felled the saplings--and such saplings!--TREES many of themwere--while we, "all of a muck of sweat," dragged them into line. Dadworked like a horse himself, and expected us to do the same. "Nevermind staring about you," he'd say, if he caught us looking at the sunto see if it were coming dinner-time--"there's no time to lose if wewant to get the fence up and a crop in."

  Dan worked nearly as hard as Dad until he dropped the butt-end of aheavy sapling on his foot, which made him hop about on one leg and saythat he was sick and tired of the dashed fence. Then he argued withDad, and declared that it would be far better to put a wire-fence up atonce, and be done with it, instead of wasting time over a thing thatwould only be burnt down again. "How long," he said, "will it take toget the posts? Not a week," and he hit the ground disgustedly with apiece of stick he had in his hand.

  "Confound it!" Dad said, "have n't you got any sense, boy? What earthlyuse would a wire-fence be without any wire in it?"

  Then we knocked off and went to dinner.

  No one appeared in any humour to talk at the table. Mother satsilently at the end and poured out the tea while Dad, at the head,served the pumpkin and divided what cold meat there was. Mother wouldn't have any meat--one of us would have to go without if she had takenany.

  I don't know if it was on account of Dan arguing with him, or if it wasbecause there was no bread for dinner, that Dad was in a bad temper;anyway, he swore at Joe for coming to the table with dirty hands. Joecried and said that he could n't wash them when Dave, as soon as he hadwashed his, had thrown the water out. Then Dad scowled at Dave, andJoe passed his plate along for more pumpkin.

  Dinner was almost over when Dan, still looking hungry, grinned andasked Dave if he was n't going to have some BREAD? Whereupon Dadjumped up in a tearing passion. "D--n your insolence!" he said to Dan,"make a jest of it, would you?"

  "Who's jestin'?" Dan answered and grinned again.

  "Go!" said Dad, furiously, pointing to the door, "leave my roof, youthankless dog!"

  Dan went that night.

  It was only upon Dad promising faithfully to reduce his account withintwo months that the storekeeper let us have another bag of flour oncredit. And what a change that bag of flour wrought! How cheerful theplace became all at once! And how enthusiastically Dad spoke of thefarm and the prospects of the coming season!

  Four months had gone by. The fence had been up some time and ten acresof wheat put in; but there had been no rain, and not a grain had comeup, or was likely to.

  Nothing had been heard of Dan since his departure. Dad spoke about himto Mother. "The scamp!" he said, "to leave me just when I wantedhelp--after all the years I've slaved to feed him and clothe him, seewhat thanks I get! but, mark my word, he'll be glad to come back yet."But Mother would never say anything against Dan.

  The weather continued dry. The wheat did n't come up, and Dad becamedespondent again.

  The storekeeper called every week and reminded Dad of his promise. "Iwould give it you willingly," Dad would say, "if I had it, Mr. Rice;but what can I do? You can't knock blood out of a stone."

  We ran short of tea, and Dad thought to buy more with the moneyAnderson owed him for some fencing he had done; but when he asked forit, Anderson was very sorry he had n't got it just then, but promisedto let him have it as soon as he could sell his chaff. When Motherheard Anderson could n't pay, she DID cry, and said there was n't a bitof sugar in the house, nor enough cotton to mend the children's bits ofclothes.

  We could n't very well go without tea, so Dad showed Mother how to makea new kind. He roasted a slice of bread on the fire till it was like ablack coal, then poured the boiling water over it and let it "draw"well. Dad said it had a capital flavour--HE liked it.

  Dave's only pair of pants were pretty well worn off him; Joe had n't adecent coat for Sunday; Dad himself wore a pair of boots with solestied on with wire; and Mother fell sick. Dad did all he could--waitedon her, and talked hopefully of the fortune which would come to us someday; but once, when talking to Dave, he broke down, and said he didn't, in the name of the Almighty God, know what he would do! Davecould n't say anything--he moped about, too, and home somehow did n'tseem like home at all.

  When Mother was sick and Dad's time was mostly taken up nursing her;when there was nothing, scarcely, in the house; when, in fact, the wolfwas at the very door;--Dan came home with a pocket full of money andswag full of greasy clothes. How Dad shook him by the hand andwelcomed him back! And how Dan talked of "tallies", "belly-wool", and"ringers" and implored Dad, over and over again, to go shearing, orrolling up, or branding--ANYTHING rather than work and starve on theselection.

  That's fifteen years ago, and Dad is still on the farm.