1938-1953 FEE

Not wanting anyone to know of her return, Meggie rode out to Drogheda on the mail truck with old BlueyWilliams, Justine in a basket on the seat beside her. Bluey was delighted to see her and eager to know what shehad been doing for the last four years, but as they neared the homestead he fell silent, divining her wish to comehome in peace.

Back to brown and silver, back to dust, back to that wonderful purity and spareness North Queensland solacked. No profligate growth here, no hastening of decay to make room for more; only a slow, wheelinginevitability like the constellations. Kangaroos, more than ever. Lovely little symmetrical wilgas, round andmatronly, almost coy. Galahs, soaring in pink waves of undersides above the truck. Emus at full run. Rabbits,hopping out of the road with white powder puffs lashing cheekily. Bleached skeletons of dead trees in the grass.

Mirages of timber stands on the far curving horizon as they came across the Dibban-Dibban plain, only theunsteady blue lines across their bases to indicate that the trees weren't real. The sound she had so missed butnever thought to miss, crows carking desolately. Misty brown veils of dust whipped along by the dry autumnwind like dirty rain. And the grass, the silver-beige grass of the Great Northwest, stretching to the sky like abenediction.

Drogheda, Drogheda! Ghost gums and sleepy giant pepper trees a-hum with bees. Stockyards and butteryyellow sandstone buildings, alien green lawn around the big house, autumn flowers in the garden, wallflowersand zinnias, asters and dahlias, marigolds and calendulas, chrysanthemums, roses, roses. The gravel of thebackyard, Mrs. Smith standing gaping, then laughing, crying, Minnie and Cat running, old stringy arms likechains around her heart. For Drogheda was home, and here was her heart, for always. Fee came out to see whatall the fuss was about. "Hello, Mum. I've come home."The grey eyes didn't change, but in the new growth of her soul Meggie understood. Mum was glad; she justdidn't know how to show it. "Have you left Luke?" Fee asked, taking it for granted that Mrs. Smith and the maidswere as entitled to know as she was herself. "Yes. I shall never go back to him. He didn't want a home, or hischildren, or me.""Children?""Yes. I'm going to have another baby."Oohs and aahs from the servants, and Fee speaking her judgment in that measured voice, gladness underneath.

"If he doesn't want you, then you were right to come home. We can look after you here."Her old room, looking out across the Home Paddock, the gardens. And a room next door for Justine, the newbaby when it came. Oh, it was so good to be home!

Bob was glad to see her, too. More and more like Paddy, he was becoming a little bent and sinewy as the sunbaked his skin and his bones to dryness. He had the same gentle strength of character, but perhaps because hehad never been the progenitor of a large family, he lacked Paddy's fatherly mien. And he was like Fee, also.

Quiet, self-contained, not one to air his feelings or opinions. He had to be into his middle thirties, Meggiethought in sudden surprise, and still he wasn't married. Then Jack and Hughie came in, two duplicate Bobswithout his authority, their shy smiles welcoming her home. That must be it, she reflected; they are so shy, it isthe land, for the land doesn't need articulateness or social graces. It needs only what they bring to it, voice-lesslove and wholehearted fealty.

The Cleary men were all home that night, to unload a truck of corn Jims and Patsy had picked up from theAMLANDF in Gilly.

"I've never seen it so dry, Meggie," Bob said. "No rain in two years, not a drop. And the bunnies are a biggercurse than the kangas; they're eating more grass than sheep and kangas combined. We're going to try to handfeed,but you know what sheep are."Only too well did Meggie know what sheep were. Idiots, incapable of understanding even the rudiments ofsurvival. What little brain the original animal had ever possessed was entirely bred out of these woollyaristocrats. Sheep wouldn't eat anything but grass, or scrub cut from their natural environment. But there justweren't enough hands to cut scrub to satisfy over a hundred thousand sheep.

"I take it you can use me?" she asked.

"Can we! You'll free up a man's hands for scrubcutting, Meggie, if you'll ride the inside paddocks the way youused to."True as their word, the twins were home for good. At fourteen they quit Riverview forever, couldn't head backto the black-oil plains quickly enough. Already they looked like juvenile Bobs, Jacks and Hughies, in what wasgradually replacing the old-fashioned grey twill and flannel as the uniform of the Great Northwest grazier: whitemoleskin breeches, white shirt, a flat-crowned grey felt hat with a broad brim, and ankle-high elastic-sided ridingboots with flat heels. Only the handful of half-caste aborigines who lived in Gilly's shanty section aped thecowboys of the American West, in high-heeled fancy boots and ten-gallon Stetsons. To a black-soil plainsmansuch gear was a useless affectation, a part of a different culture. A man couldn't walk through the scrub in high-heeled boots, and a man often had to walk through the scrub. And a ten-gallon Stetson was far too hot and heavy.

The chestnut mare and the black gelding were both dead; the stables were empty. Meggie insisted she was happywith a stock horse, but Bob went over to Martin King's to buy her two of his part-thoroughbred hacks comacreamy mare with a black mane and tail, and a leggy chestnut gelding. For some reason the loss of the oldchestnut mare hit Meggie harder than her actual parting from Ralph, a delayed reaction; as if in this the fact ofhis going was more clearly stated. But it was so good to be out in the paddocks again, to ride with the dogs, eatthe dust of a bleating mob of sheep, watch the birds, the sky, the land.

It was terribly dry. Drogheda's grass had always managed to outlast the droughts Meggie remembered, but thiswas different. The grass was patchy now; in between its tussocks the dark ground showed, cracked into a finenetwork of fissures gaping like parched mouths. For which mostly thank the rabbits. In the four years of herabsence they had suddenly multiplied out of all reason, though she supposed they had been bad for many yearsbefore that. It was just that almost overnight their numbers had reached far beyond saturation point. They wereeverywhere, and they, too, ate the precious grass. She learned to set rabbit traps, hating in a way to see the sweetlittle things mangled in steel teeth, but too much of a land person herself to flinch from doing what had to bedone. To kill in the name of survival wasn't cruelty.

"God rot the homesick Pommy who shipped the first rabbits out from England," said Bob bitterly.

They were not native to Australia, and their sentimental importation had completely upset the ecologicalbalance of the continent where sheep and cattle had not, these being scientifically grazed from the moment oftheir introduction. There was no natural Australian predator to control the rabbit numbers, and imported foxesdidn't thrive. Man must be an unnatural predator, but there were too few men, too many rabbits.

After Meggie grew too big to sit a horse, she spent her days in the homestead with Mrs. Smith, Minnie and Cat,sewing or knitting for the little thing squirming inside her. He (she always thought of it as he) was a part of heras Justine never had been; she suffered no sickness or depression, and looked forward eagerly to bearing him.

Perhaps Justine was inadvertently responsible for some of this; now that the little pale-eyed thing was changingfrom a mindless baby to an extremely intelligent girl child, Meggie found herself fascinated with the process andthe child. It was a long time since she had been indifferent to Justine, and she yearned to lavish love upon herdaughter, hug her, kiss her, laugh with her. To be politely rebuffed was a shock, but that was what Justine did atevery affectionate overture. When Jims and Patsy left Riverview, Mrs. Smith had thought to get them back underher wing again, then came the disappointment of discovering they were away in the paddocks most of the time.

So Mrs. Smith turned to little Justine, and found herself as firmly shut out as Meggie was. It seemed that Justinedidn't want to be hugged, kissed or made to laugh. She walked and talked early, at nine months. Once upon herfeet and in command of a very articulate tongue, she proceeded to go her own way and do precisely whatever shewanted. Not that she was either noisy or defiant; simply that she was made of very hard metal indeed. Meggieknew nothing about genes, but if she had she might have pondered upon the result of an intermingling of Cleary,Armstrong and O'neill. It couldn't fail to be powerful human soup.

But the most dismaying thing was Justine's dogged refusal to smile or laugh. Every soul on Drogheda turnedinside out performing antics to make her germinate a grin, without success. When it came to innate solemnity sheoutdid her grandmother. On the first of October, when Justine was exactly sixteen months old, Meggie's son wasborn on Drogheda. He was almost four weeks early and not expected; there were two or three sharp contractions,the water broke, and he was delivered by Mrs. Smith and Fee a few minutes after they rang for the doctor.

Meggie had scarcely, had time to dilate. The pain was minimal, the ordeal so quickly over it might hardly havebeen; in spite of the stitches she had to have because his entry into the world had been so precipitate, Meggie feltwonderful. Totally dry for Justine, her breasts were full to overflowing. No need for bottles or tins of Lactogenthis time. And he was so beautiful! Long and slender, with a quiff of flaxen hair atop his perfect little skull, andvivid blue eyes which gave no hint of changing later to some other color. How could they change? They wereRalph's eyes, as he had Ralph's hands, Ralph's nose and mouth, even Ralph's feet. Meggie was unprincipledenough to be very thankful Luke had been much the same build and coloring as Ralph, much the same infeatures. But the hands, the way the brows grew in, the downy widow's peak, the shape of the fingers and toes;they were so much Ralph, so little Luke. Better hope no one remembered which man owned what.

"Have you decided-on his name?" asked Fee; he seemed to fascinate her. Meggie watched her as she stoodholding him, and was grateful. Mum was going to love again; oh, maybe not the way she had loved Frank, but atleast she would feel something.

"I'm going to call him Dane.""What a queer name! Why? Is it an O'neill family name? I thought you were finished with the O'neills?""It's got nothing to do with Luke. This is his name, no one else's. I hate family names; it's like wishing a pieceof someone different onto a new person. I called Justine Justine simply because I liked the name, and I'm callingDane Dane for the same reason.

"Well, it does have a nice ring to it," Fee admitted. Meggie winced; her breasts were too full. "Better give himto me, Mum. Oh, I hope he's hungry! And I hope old Blue remembers to bring that breast pump. Otherwiseyou're going to have to drive into Gilly for it."He was hungry; he tugged at her so hard his gummy little mouth hurt. Looking down on him, the closed eyeswith their dark, gold-tipped lashes, the feathery brows, the tiny working cheeks, Meggie loved him so much thelove hurt her more than his sucking ever could.

He is enough; he has to be enough, I'll not get any more. But by God, Ralph de Bricassart, by that God you lovemore than me, you'll never know what I stole from you-and from Him. I'm never going to tell you about Dane.

Oh, my baby! Shifting on the pillows to settle him more comfortably into the crook of her arm, to see moreeasily that perfect little face. My baby! You're mine, and I'm never going to give you up to anyone else. Least ofall to your father, who is a priest and can't acknowledge you. Isn't that wonderful?

The boat docked in Genoa at the beginning of April. Archbishop Ralph landed in an Italy bursting into full,Mediterranean spring, and caught a train to Rome. Had he requested it he could have been met, chauffeured in aVatican car to Rome, but he dreaded to feel the Church close around him again; he wanted to put the moment offas long as he could. The Eternal City. It was truly that, he thought, staring out of the taxi windows at thecampaniles and domes, and pigeon-strewn plazas, the ambitious fountains, the Roman columns with their basesburied deep in the centuries. Well, to him they were all superfluities. What mattered to him was the part of Romecalled the Vatican, its sumptuous public rooms, its anything but sumptuous private rooms.

A black-and-cream-robed Dominican monk led him through high marble corridors, amid bronze and stonefigures worthy of a museum, past great paintings in the styles of Giotto, Raphael, Botticelli, Fra Angelico. Hewas in the public rooms of a great cardinal, and no doubt the wealthy Contini-Verchese family had given muchto enhance their august scion's surroundings.

In a room of ivory and gold, rich with color from tapestries and pictures, French carpeted and furnished,everywhere touches of crimson, sat Vittorio Scarbanza, Cardinal di Contini-Verchese. The small smooth hand,its ruby ring glowing, was extended to him in welcome; glad to fix his eyes downward, Archbishop Ralphcrossed the room, knelt, took the hand to kiss the ring. And laid his cheek against the hand, knowing he couldn'tlie, though he had meant to right up until the moment his lips touched that symbol of spiritual power, temporalauthority.

Cardinal Vittorio put his other hand on the bent shoulder, nodding a dismissal to the monk, then as the doorclosed softly his hand went from shoulder to hair, rested in its dark thickness, smoothed it back tenderly from thehalf-averted forehead. It had changed; soon it would be no longer black, but the color of iron. The bent spinestiffened, the shoulders went back, and Archbishop Ralph looked directly up into his master's face. Ah, there hadbeen a change! The mouth had drawn in, knew pain and was more vulnerable; the eyes, so beautiful in color andshape and setting, were yet completely different from the eyes he still remembered as if bodily they had neverleft him. Cardinal Vittorio had always had a fancy that the eyes of Jesus were blue, and like Ralph's: calm,removed from what He saw and therefore able to encompass all, understand all. But perhaps it had been amistaken fancy. How could one feel for humanity and suffer oneself without its showing in the eyes?

"Come, Ralph, sit down.""Your Eminence, I wish to confess.""Later, later! First we will talk, and in English. There are ears everywhere these days, but, thank our dear Jesus,not English-speaking ears. Sit down, Ralph, please. Oh, it is so good to see you! I have missed your wisecounsel, your rationality, your perfect brand of companionship. They have not given me anyone I like half sowell as you."He could feel his brain clicking into the formality already, feel the very thoughts in his mind take on morestilted phrasing; more than most people, Ralph de Bricassart knew how everything about one changed with one'scompany, even one's speech. Not for these ears the easy fluency of colloquial English. So he sat down not faraway, and directly opposite the slight figure in its scarlet moiré, the color changing yet not changing, of a qualitywhich made its edges fuse with the surroundings rather than stand out from them. The desperate weariness hehad known for weeks seemed to be easing a little from his shoulders; he wondered why he had dreaded thismeeting so, when he had surely known in his heart he would be understood, forgiven. But that wasn't it, not it atall. It was his own guilt at having failed, at being less than he had aspired to be, at disappointing a man who hadbeen interested, tremendously kind, a true friend. His guilt at walking into this pure presence no longer purehimself.

"Ralph, we are priests, but we are something else before that; something we were before we became priests, andwhich we cannot escape in spite of our exclusiveness. We are men, with the weaknesses and failings of men.

There is nothing you can tell me which could alter the impressions I formed of you during our years together,nothing you could tell me which will make me think less of you, or like you less. For many years I have knownthat you had escaped this realization of our intrinsic weakness, of our humanity, but I knew you must come to it,for we all do. Even the Holy Father, who is the most humble and human of us all.""I broke my vows, Your Eminence. That isn't easily forgiven. It's sacrilege.""Poverty you broke years ago, when you accepted the bequest of Mrs. Mary Carson. Which leaves cha/y andobedience, does it not?" "Then all three were broken, Your Eminence.""I wish you would call me Vittorio, as you used to! I am not shocked, Ralph, nor disappointed. It is as Our LordJesus Christ wills, and I think perhaps you had a great lesson to learn which could not be learned in any way lessdestructive. God is mysterious, His reasons beyond our poor comprehension. But I think what you did was notdone lightly, your vows thrown away as having no value. I know you very well. I know you to be proud, verymuch in love with the idea of being a priest, very conscious of your exclusiveness. It is possible that you neededthis particular lesson to reduce that pride, make you understand that you are first a man, and therefore not asexclusive as you think. Is it not so?" "Yes. I lacked humility, and I believe in a way I aspired to be God Himself.

I've sinned most grievously and inexcusably. I can't forgive myself, so how can I hope for divine forgiveness?""The pride, Ralph, the pride! It is not your place to forgive, do you not understand that yet? Only God canforgive. Only God! And He will forgive if the sincere repentance is there. He has forgiven greater sins from fargreater saints, you know, as well as from far greater villains. Do you think Prince Lucifer is not forgiven? Hewas forgiven in the very moment of his rebellion. His fate as ruler of Hell is his own, not God's doing. Did he notsay it? "Better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven!" For he could not overcome his pride, he could not bear tosubjugate his will to the Will of Someone else, even though that Someone was God Himself. I do not want to seeyou make the same mistake, my dearest friend. Humility was the one quality you lacked, and it is the veryquality which makes a great saint-or a great man. Until you can leave the matter of forgiveness to God, you willnot have acquired true humility."The strong face twisted. "Yes, I know you're right. I must accept what I am without question, only strive to bebetter without having pride in what I am. I repent, therefore I shall confess and await forgiveness. I do repent,bitterly." He sighed; his eyes betrayed the conflict his measured words couldn't, not in this room.

"And yet, Vittorio, in a way there was nothing else I could do. Either I ruined her, or I took the ruin uponmyself. At the time there didn't seem to be a choice, because I do love her. It wasn't her fault that I've neverwanted the love to extend to a physical plane. Her fate became more important than my own, you see. Until thatmoment I had always considered myself first, as more important than she, because I was a priest, and she was alesser being. But I saw that I was responsible for what she is .... I should have let her go when she was a child,but I didn't. I kept her in my heart and she knew it. If I had truly plucked her out she would have known that, too,and she would have become someone I couldn't influence." He smiled. "You see that I have much to repent. Itried a little creating of my own.""It was the Rose?"The head went back; Archbishop Ralph looked at the elaborate ceiling with its gilded moldings and baroqueMurano chandelier. "Could it have been anyone else? She's my only attempt at creation.""And will she be all right, the Rose? Did you do her more harm by this than in denying her?""I don't know, Vittorio. I wish I did! At the time it just seemed the only thing to do. I'm not gifted withPromethean foresight, and emotional involvement makes one a poor judge. Besides, it simply . . . happened! ButI think perhaps she needed most what I gave her, the recognition of her identity as a woman. I don't mean thatshe didn't know she was a woman. I mean 1 didn't know. If I had first met her as a woman it might have beendifferent, but I knew her as a child for many years.""You sound rather priggish, Ralph, and not yet ready for forgiveness. It hurts, does it not? That you could havebeen human enough to yield to human weakness. Was it really done in such a spirit of noble self-sacrifice?"Startled, he looked into the liquid dark eyes, saw himself reflected in them as two tiny manikins of insignificantproportion. "No," he said. "I'm a man, and as a man I found a pleasure in her I didn't dream existed. I didn't knowa woman felt like that, or could be the source of such profound joy. I wanted never to leave her, not only becauseof her body, but because I just loved to be with her-talk to her, not talk to her, eat the meals she cooked, smile ather, share her thoughts. I shall miss her as long as I live." There was something in the sallow ascetic visagewhich unaccountably reminded him of Meggie's face in that moment of parting; the sight of a spiritual burdenbeing taken up, the resoluteness of a character well able to go forward in spite of its loads, its griefs, its pain.

What had he known, the red silk cardinal whose only human addiction seemed to be his languid Abyssinian cat?

"I can't repent of what I had with her in that way," Ralph went on when His Eminence didn't speak. "I repent thebreaking of vows as solemn and binding as my life. I can never again approach my priestly duties in the samelight, with the same zeal. I repent that bitterly. But Meggie?" The look on his face when he uttered her namemade Cardinal Vittorio turn away to do battle with his own thoughts.

"To repent of Meggie would be to murder her." He passed his hand tiredly across his eyes. "I don't know ifthat's very clear, or even if it gets close to saying what I mean. I can't for the life of me ever seem to express whatI feel for Meggie adequately." He leaned forward in his chair as the Cardinal turned back, and watched his twinimages grow a little larger. Vittorio's eyes were like mirrors; they threw back what they saw and didn't permitone a glimpse of what went on behind them. Meggie's eyes were exactly the opposite; they went down and downand down, all the way to her soul. "Meggie is a benediction," he said. "She's a holy thing to me, a different kindof sacrament.""Yes, I understand," sighed the Cardinal. "It is well you feel so. In Our Lord's eyes I think it will mitigate thegreat sin. For your own sake you had better confess to Father Giorgio, not to Father Guillermo. Father Giorgiowill not misinterpret your feelings and your reasoning. He will see the truth. Father Guillermo is less perceptive,and might deem your true repentance debatable." A faint smile crossed his thin mouth like a wispy shadow.

"They, too, are men, my Ralph, those who hear the confessions of the great. Never forget it as long as you live.

Only in their priesthood do they act as vessels containing God. In all else they are men. And the forgiveness theymete out comes from God, but the ears which listen and judge belong to men."There was a discreet knock on the door; Cardinal Vittorio sat silently and watched the tea tray being carried to abuhl table. "You see, Ralph? Since my days in Australia I have become addicted to the afternoon tea habit. Theymake it quite well in my kitchen, though they used not to at first." He held up his hand as Archbishop Ralphstarted to move toward the teapot. "Ah, no! I shall pour it myself. It amuses me to be 'mother."""I saw a great many black shirts in the streets of Genoa and Rome," said Archbishop Ralph, watching CardinalVittorio pour. "The special cohorts of II Duce. We have a very difficult time ahead of us, my Ralph. The HolyFather is adamant that there be no fracture between the Church and the secular government of Italy, and he isright in this as in ail things. No matter what happens, we must remain free to minister to all our children, evenshould a war mean our children will be divided, fighting each other in the name of a Catholic God. Wherever ourhearts and our emotions might lie, we must endeavor always to keep the Church removed from politicalideologies and international squabbles. I wanted you to come to me because I can trust your face not to giveaway what your brain is thinking no matter what your eyes might be seeing, and because you have the bestdiplomatic turn of mind I have ever encountered."Archbishop Ralph smiled ruefully. "You'll further my career in spite of me, won't you! I wonder what wouldhave happened to me if I hadn't met you?" "Oh, you would have become Archbishop of Sydney, a nice post andan important one," said His Eminence with a golden smile. "But the ways of our lives lie not in our hands. Wemet because it was meant to be, just as it is meant that we work together now for the Holy Father.""I can't see success at the end of the road," said Archbishop Ralph. "I think the result will be what the result ofimpartiality always is. No one will like us, and everyone will condemn us.""I know that, so does His Holiness. But we can do nothing else. And there is nothing to prevent our praying inprivate for the speedy downfall of 11 Duce and Der Fuehrer, is there?""Do you really think there will be war?""I cannot see any possibility of avoiding it."His Eminence's cat stalked out of the sunny corner where it had been sleeping, and jumped upon the scarletshimmering lap a little awkwardly, for it was old.

"Ah, Sheba! Say hello to your old friend Ralph, whom you used to prefer to me."The satanic yellow eyes regarded Archbishop Ralph haughtily, and closed. Both men laughed.

Drogheda had a wireless set. Progress had finally come to Gillanbone in the shape of an AustralianBroadcasting Commission radio station, and at long last there was something to rival the party line for massentertainment. The wireless itself was a rather ugly object in a walnut case which sat on a small exquisite cabinetin the drawing room, its car-battery power source hidden in the cupboard underneath.

Every morning Mrs. Smith, Fee and Meggie turned it on to listen to the Gillanbone district news and weather,and every evening Fee and Meggie turned it on to listen to the ABC national news. How strange it was to beinstantaneously connected with Outside; to hear of floods, fires, rainfall in every part of the nation, an uneasyEurope, Australian politics, without benefit of Bluey Williams and his aged newspapers. When the national newson Friday, September 1/, announced that Hitler had invaded Poland, only Fee and Meggie were home to hear it,and neither of them paid any attention. There had been speculation for months; besides, Europe was half a worldaway. Nothing to do with Drogheda, which was the center of the universe. But on Sunday, September 3rd all themen were in from the paddocks to hear Father Watty Thomas say Mass, and the men were interested in Europe.

Neither Fee nor Meggie thought to tell them of Friday's news, and Father Watty, who might have, left in a hurryfor Narrengang.

As usual, the wireless set was switched on that evening for the national news. But instead of the crisp,absolutely Oxford tones of the announcer, there came the genteel, unmistakably Australian voice of the PrimeMinister, Robert Gordon Menzies.

"Fellow Australians. It is my melancholy duty to inform you officially that in consequence of the persistence byGermany in her invasion of Poland, Great Britain has declared war upon her, and that, as a result, Australia isalso at war . .. .

"It may be taken that Hitler's ambition is not to unite all the German people under one rule, but to bring underthat rule as many countries as can be subdued by force. If this is to go on, there can be no security in Europe andno peace in the world .... There can be no doubt that where Great Britain stands, there stand the people of theentire British world .... "Our staying power, and that of the Mother Country, will be best assisted by keeping ourproduction going, continuing our avocations and business, maintaining employment, and with it, our strength. Iknow that in spite of the emotions we are feeling, Australia is ready to see it through. "May God, in His mercyand compassion, grant that the world may soon be delivered from this agony."There was a long silence in the drawing room, broken by the megaphonal tones of a short-wave NevilleChamberlain speaking to the British people; Fee and Meggie looked at their men.

"If we count Frank, there are six of us," said Bob into the silence. "All of us except Frank are on the land, whichmeans they won't want to let us serve. Of our present stockmen, I reckon six will want to go and two will want tostay.""I want to go!" said Jack, eyes shining.

"And me," said Hughie eagerly.

"And us," said Jims on behalf of himself and the inarticulate Patsy. But they all looked at Bob, who was theboss. "We've got to be sensible," he said. "Wool is a staple of war, and not only for clothes. It's used as packingin ammunition and explosives, for all sorts of funny things we don't hear of, I'm sure. Plus we have beef cattle forfood, and the old wethers and ewes go for hides, glue, tallow, lanolin-all war staples.

"So we can't go off and leave Drogheda to run itself, no matter what we might want to do. With a war on it'sgoing to be mighty hard to replace the stockmen we're bound to lose. The drought's in its third year, we're scrub-cutting, and the bunnies are driving us silly. For the moment our job's here on Drogheda; not very excitingcompared to getting into action, but just as necessary. We'll be doing our best bit here."The male faces had fallen, the female ones lightened. "What if it goes on longer than old Pig Iron Bob thinks itwill?" asked Hughie, giving the Prime Minister his national nickname. Bob thought hard, his weatherbeatenvisage full of frowning lines. "If things get worse and it goes on for a long time, then I reckon as long as we'vegot two stockmen we can spare two Clearys, but only if Meggie's willing to get back into proper harness andwork the inside paddocks. It would be awfully hard and in good times we wouldn't stand a chance, but in thisdrought I reckon five men and Meggie working seven days a week could run Drogheda. Yet that's asking a lot ofMeggie, with two little babies." "If it has to be done, Bob, it has to be done," said Meggie. "Mrs. Smith won'tmind doing her bit by taking charge of Justine and Dane. When you give the word that I'm needed to keepDrogheda up to full production, I'll start riding the inside paddocks.""Then that's us, the two who can be spared," said Jims, smiling. "No, it's Hughie and I," said Jack quickly.

"By rights i............