Dave grinned.
"Can't you see? Damn it, boy, are you so dense?"
Dave saw. He became enthusiastic. lie wondered why it had never struck us before. Then Dad smiled, and we sat to supper and talked about bears.
"We'll not bother with that horse now," said Dad; "the ploughing can go; I'm done with it. We've had enough poking and puddling about. We '11 start this business straight away." And the following morning, headed by the dog and Dad, armed with a tomahawk, we started up the paddock.
How free we felt! To think we were finished for ever with the raking and carting of hay—finished tramping up and down beside Dad, with the plough-reins in our hands, flies in our eyes and burr in our feet—finished being the target for Dad's blasphemy when the plough or the horses or the harness went wrong—was delightful! And the adventure and excitement which this new industry promised operated strongly upon us. We rioted and careered like hunted brumbies through the trees, till warned by Dad to "keep our eyes about;" then we settled down, and Joe found the first bear. It was on an ironbark tree, around the base of which we soon were clamouring.
"Up y' go!" Dad said, cheerfully helping Dave and the tomahawk into the first fork.
Dave ascended and crawled cautiously along the limb the bear was on and began to chop. We armed ourselves with
