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