Part 26

The old woman sat and moaned about her troubles, as old women do. She had plenty to moan about.

“I wonder where your brother Tom is? We haven't heard from him for a year now. He must be in trouble again; something tells me he must be in trouble again.”

Mary swung her hood off into her lap.

“Why do you worry about it, mother? What's the use?”

“I only wish I knew. I only wish I knew!”

“What good would that do? You know Tom went droving with Fred Dunn, and Fred will look after him; and, besides, Tom's older now and got more sense.”

“Oh, you don't care--you don't care! You don't feel it, but I'm his mother, and----”

“Oh, for God's sake, don't start that again, mother; it hurts me more than you think. I'm his sister; I've suffered enough, God knows! Don't make matters worse than they are!”

“Here comes father!” shouted one of the children outside, “'n' he's bringing home a steer.”

The old woman sat still, and clasped her hands nervously. Mary tried to look cheerful, and moved the saucepan on the fire. A big, dark-bearded man, mounted on a small horse, was seen in the twilight driving a steer towards the cow-yard. A boy ran to let down the slip-rails.

Presently Mary and her mother heard the clatter of rails let down and put up again, and a minute later a heavy step like the tread of a horse was heard outside. The selector lumbered in, threw his hat in a corner, and sat down by the table. His wife rose and bustled round with simulated cheerfulness. Presently Mary hazarded--

“Where have you been, father?”

“Somewheers.”

There was a wretched silence, lasting until the old woman took courage to say timidly:

“So you've brought a steer, Wylie?”

“Yes!” he snapped; the tone seemed defiant.

The old woman's hands trembled, so that she dropped a cup. Mary turned a shade paler.

“Here, git me some tea. Git me some TEA!” shouted Mr. Wylie. “I ain't agoin' to sit here all night!”

His wife made what haste her nervousness would allow, and they soon sat down to tea. Jack, the eldest son, was sulky, and his father muttered something about knocking the sulks out of him with an axe.

“What's annoyed you, Jack?” asked his mother, humbly.

He scowled and made no answer.

The younger children--three boys and a girl--began quarrelling as soon as they sat down. Wylie yelled at them now and then, and grumbled at the cooking, and at his wife for not being able to keep the children quiet. It was: “Marther! you didn't put no sugar in my tea.” “Mother, Jimmy's got my place; make him move.” “Mawther! do speak to this Fred.” “Oh! father, this big brute of a Harry's kickin' me!” And so on.

II.

When the miserable meal was over, Wylie got a rope and a butcher's knife, and went out to slaughter the steer; but first there was a row, because he thought--or pretended to think--that somebody had been using his knife. He lassoed the beast, drew it up to the rails, and slaughtered it.

Meanwhile, Jack and his next brother took an old gun, let the dogs loose, and went 'possum shooting.

Presently Wylie came in again, sat down by the fire, and smoked. The children quarrelled over a boy's book; Mrs. Wylie made weak attempts to keep the peace, but they took no notice of her. Suddenly her husband rose with an oath, seized the novel, and threw it behind the fire.

“Git to bed! git to bed!” he roared at the children; “git to bed, or I'll smash your brains with the axe!”

They got to bed. It was made of saplings and bark, covered with three bushel-bags full of straw and old pieces of blanket sewn together. The children quarrelled in bed till their father took off his belt and “went into” them, according to promise. There was a sudden hush, followed by a sound like a bird-clapper; then howls; then a peaceful calm fell upon that happy home.