On Our Selection [27]
a big stack of rye from it.
The wedding was on a Wednesday, and at three o'clock in the afternoon. Most of the people came before dinner; the Hamiltons arrived just after breakfast. Talk of drays!--the little paddock could n't hold them.
Jim Mullins was the only one who came in to dinner; the others mostly sat on their heels in a row and waited in the shade of the wire-fence. The parson was the last to come, and as he passed in he knocked his head against the kangaroo-leg hanging under the verandah. Dad saw it swinging, and said angrily to Joe: "Did n't I tell you to take that down this morning?"
Joe unhooked it and said: "But if I hang it anywhere else the dog'll get it."
Dad tried to laugh at Joe, and said, loudly, "And what else is it for?" Then he bustled Joe off before he could answer him again.
Joe did n't understand.
Then Dad said (putting the leg in a bag): "Do you want everyone to know we eat it, ---- you?"
Joe understood.
The ceremony commenced. Those who could squeeze inside did so--the others looked in at the window and through the cracks in the chimney.
Mrs. M'Doolan led Kate out of the back-room; then Sandy rose from the fire-place and stood beside her. Everyone thought Kate looked very nice----and orange blossoms! You'd think she was an orange-tree with a new bed-curtain thrown over it. Sandy looked well, too, in his snake-belt and new tweeds; but he seemed uncomfortable when the pin that Dave put in the back of his collar came out.
The parson did n't take long; and how they scrambled and tumbled over each other at the finish! Charley Mace said that he got the first kiss; Big George said HE did; and Mrs. M'Doolan was certain she would have got it only for the baby.
Fun! there WAS fun! The room was cleared and they promenaded for a dance--Sandy and Kate in the lead. They continued promenading until one of the well-sinkers called for the concertina--ours had been repaired till you could get only three notes out of it; but Jim Burke jumped on his horse and went home for his accordion.
Dance! they did dance!--until sun-rise. But unless you were dancing you could n't stay inside, because the floor broke up, and talk about dust!--before morning the room was like a drafting-yard.
It was a great wedding; and though years have since passed, all the neighbours say still it was the best they were ever at.
Chapter XIII.
The Summer Old Bob Died.
It was a real scorcher. A soft, sweltering summer's day. The air quivered; the heat drove the fowls under the dray and sent the old dog to sleep upon the floor inside the house. The iron on the skillion cracked and sweated--so did Dad and Dave down the paddock, grubbing--grubbing, in 130 degrees of sunshine. They were clearing a piece of new land--a heavily-timbered box-tree flat. They had been at it a fortnight, and if any music was in the ring of the axe or the rattle of the pick when commencing, there was none now.
Dad wished to be cheerful and complacent. He said (putting the pick down and dragging his flannel off to wring it): "It's a good thing to sweat well." Dave did n't say anything. I don't know what he thought, but he looked up at Dad--just looked up at him--while the perspiration filled his eyes and ran down over his nose like rain off a shingle; then he hitched up his pants and "wired in" again.
Dave was a philosopher. He worked away until the axe flew off the handle with a ring and a bound, and might have been lost in the long grass for ever only Dad stopped it with his shin. I fancy he did n't mean to stop it when I think how he jumped--it was the only piece of excitement there had been the whole of that relentlessly solemn fortnight. Dad got vexed--he was in a hurry with the grubbing--and said he never could get anything done without something going wrong. Dave was n't sorry the axe came off--he knew it meant half-an-hour in the shade fixing it on again. "Anyway," Dad went on, "we'll go to dinner now."
On the way to the house he several times looked at the sky--that
The wedding was on a Wednesday, and at three o'clock in the afternoon. Most of the people came before dinner; the Hamiltons arrived just after breakfast. Talk of drays!--the little paddock could n't hold them.
Jim Mullins was the only one who came in to dinner; the others mostly sat on their heels in a row and waited in the shade of the wire-fence. The parson was the last to come, and as he passed in he knocked his head against the kangaroo-leg hanging under the verandah. Dad saw it swinging, and said angrily to Joe: "Did n't I tell you to take that down this morning?"
Joe unhooked it and said: "But if I hang it anywhere else the dog'll get it."
Dad tried to laugh at Joe, and said, loudly, "And what else is it for?" Then he bustled Joe off before he could answer him again.
Joe did n't understand.
Then Dad said (putting the leg in a bag): "Do you want everyone to know we eat it, ---- you?"
Joe understood.
The ceremony commenced. Those who could squeeze inside did so--the others looked in at the window and through the cracks in the chimney.
Mrs. M'Doolan led Kate out of the back-room; then Sandy rose from the fire-place and stood beside her. Everyone thought Kate looked very nice----and orange blossoms! You'd think she was an orange-tree with a new bed-curtain thrown over it. Sandy looked well, too, in his snake-belt and new tweeds; but he seemed uncomfortable when the pin that Dave put in the back of his collar came out.
The parson did n't take long; and how they scrambled and tumbled over each other at the finish! Charley Mace said that he got the first kiss; Big George said HE did; and Mrs. M'Doolan was certain she would have got it only for the baby.
Fun! there WAS fun! The room was cleared and they promenaded for a dance--Sandy and Kate in the lead. They continued promenading until one of the well-sinkers called for the concertina--ours had been repaired till you could get only three notes out of it; but Jim Burke jumped on his horse and went home for his accordion.
Dance! they did dance!--until sun-rise. But unless you were dancing you could n't stay inside, because the floor broke up, and talk about dust!--before morning the room was like a drafting-yard.
It was a great wedding; and though years have since passed, all the neighbours say still it was the best they were ever at.
Chapter XIII.
The Summer Old Bob Died.
It was a real scorcher. A soft, sweltering summer's day. The air quivered; the heat drove the fowls under the dray and sent the old dog to sleep upon the floor inside the house. The iron on the skillion cracked and sweated--so did Dad and Dave down the paddock, grubbing--grubbing, in 130 degrees of sunshine. They were clearing a piece of new land--a heavily-timbered box-tree flat. They had been at it a fortnight, and if any music was in the ring of the axe or the rattle of the pick when commencing, there was none now.
Dad wished to be cheerful and complacent. He said (putting the pick down and dragging his flannel off to wring it): "It's a good thing to sweat well." Dave did n't say anything. I don't know what he thought, but he looked up at Dad--just looked up at him--while the perspiration filled his eyes and ran down over his nose like rain off a shingle; then he hitched up his pants and "wired in" again.
Dave was a philosopher. He worked away until the axe flew off the handle with a ring and a bound, and might have been lost in the long grass for ever only Dad stopped it with his shin. I fancy he did n't mean to stop it when I think how he jumped--it was the only piece of excitement there had been the whole of that relentlessly solemn fortnight. Dad got vexed--he was in a hurry with the grubbing--and said he never could get anything done without something going wrong. Dave was n't sorry the axe came off--he knew it meant half-an-hour in the shade fixing it on again. "Anyway," Dad went on, "we'll go to dinner now."
On the way to the house he several times looked at the sky--that