Dave came in. He understood the situation at a glance. The scene was not new to him. He sat down, leant forward, picked a straw off the floor and twisted it round and round his finger, reflecting.
Little Bill put his head on Mother's lap, and asked for a piece of bread. . . . He asked a second time.
"There is no bread, child," she said.
"But me wants some, mumma."
Dad went outside, and Dave followed. They sat on their heels, their backs to the barn, thoughtfully studying the earth.
"It 's the same thing"—Dad said, reproachfully—"from one year's end to the other . . . alwuz a bill!"
"Thought last year we 'd be over all this by now!" from Dave.
"So we could . . . can now. ... It only wants that land to be taken up; and, as I 've said often and often, these cows taken "
Dad caught sight of the storekeeper coming back, and ran into the barn.
Six months later. Dinner about ready. "Take up a thousand acres," Dad was saying; "take it up—He was interrupted by a visitor.
"Are you Mister Rudd?" Dad said he was.
"Well, er—I've fi. fa. against y'."
