On Our Selection
irst
burr-cutting or breaking stones,
Dad stopped and talked with him while we (Dan, Dave and myself) sat on our hoe-handles, like kangaroos on
th long, brown arms an
t slow work with
lied Dad (just as if h
heel of his boot, spat, and said he did n't think the corn would ever come up. Dan slid off his perch a
ht," said Dwyer
e they preferred hoes to a plough for putting corn
, when he had gone; "wh
ightened himself up and said HE did n't think
"you whelp, what do
his, that it's nothing but to
Dan hung his head and tried to button his
lough," h
m saying what he wished, so he rushed
outside
he midst of it all the corn came up-every grain-and proved Dwyer a bad prophet.
ay-we liked it. Our thoughts were all on the boots; 'twas months months since we had pulled on a pair. Every night, in bed, we deci
four acres of corn ripened. He went, and returned on the day Tom and Bill were born-twins. Maybe
when we came to the question of getting it in. To hump it in bags seemed inevitable till Dwyer
d to shell it with our hands, and what a time we had! For the first half-hour we did n't mind it at all, and shelled cob after cob as though
er undertook to sell it. Corn was then at 12 shillings an
store (five miles) and I went with him. Each time the
The storekeeper was busy serving a customer whe
ery please
lve pounds your corn cleared, Mr. Rudd; but, of course" (going to a desk) "there's that account of yours which I have
chless, and
other laid her hand upon his shoulder and asked him kindly what was the matter. Then he drew the st
OUR first