One night after the threshing. Dad lying on the sofa, thinking; the rest of us sitting at the table. Dad spoke to Joe.

“How much,” he said, “is seven hundred bushels of wheat at six shillings?”

Joe, who was looked upon as the brainy one of our family, took down his slate with a hint of scholarly ostentation.

“What did y’ say, Dad — seven ’undred BAGS?”

“Bushels! BUSHELS!”

“Seven ’un-dered bush-els-of wheat — WHEAT was it, Dad?”

“Yes, WHEAT!”

“Wheat at . . . At WHAT, Dad?”

“Six shillings a bushel.”

“Six shil-lings-a. . . . A, Dad? We’ve not done any at A; she’s on’y showed us PER!”

“PER bushel, then!”

“Per bush-el. That’s seven ’undered bushels of wheat at six shillin’s per bushel. An’ y’ wants ter know, Dad —?”

“How much it’ll be, of course.”

“In money, Dad, or — er ——?”

“Dammit, yes; MONEY!” Dad raised his voice.

For a while, Joe thought hard, then set to work figuring and rubbing out, figuring and rubbing out. The rest of us eyed him, envious of his learning.

Joe finished the sum.

“Well?” from Dad.

Joe cleared his throat. We listened.

“Nine thousan’ poun’.”

Dave laughed loud. Dad said, “Pshaw!” and turned his face to the wall. Joe looked at the slate again.

“Oh! I see,” he said, “I didn’t divide by twelve t’ bring t’ pounds,” and laughed himself.

More figuring and rubbing out.

Finally Joe, in loud, decisive tones, announced, “FOUR thousand, NO ’undered an’ twenty poun’, fourteen shillin’s an’—”

“Bah! YOU blockhead!” Dad blurted out, and jumped off the sofa and went to bed.

We all turned in.

We were not in bed long when the dog barked and a horse entered the yard. There was a clink of girth-buckles; a saddle thrown down; then a thump, as though with a lump of blue-metal, set the dog yelping lustily. We lay listening till a voice called out at the door —“All in bed?” Then we knew it was Dan, and Dad and Dave sprang out in their shirts to let him in. All of us jumped up to see Dan. This time he had been away a long while, and when the slush-lamp was lit and fairly going, how we stared and wondered at his altered looks! He had grown a long whisker, and must have stood inches higher than Dad.

Dad was delighted. He put a fire on, made tea, and he and Dan talked till near daybreak — Dad of the harvest, and the Government dam that was promised, and the splendid grass growing in the paddock; Dan of the great dry plains, and the shearing-sheds out back, and the chaps he had met there. And he related in a way that made Dad’s eyes glisten and Joe’s mouth open, how, with a knocked-up wrist, he shore beside Proctor and big Andy Purcell, at Welltown, and rung the shed by half a sheep.

Dad ardently admired Dan.

Dan was only going to stay a short while at home, he said, then was off West again. Dad tried to persuade him to change his mind; he would have him remain and help to work the selection. But Dan only shook his head and laughed.

Dan accompanied Dad to the plough every morning, and walked cheerfully up and down the furrows all day, talking to him. Sometimes he took a turn at the plough, and Dad did the talking. Dad just loved Dan’s company.
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