Chapter XIX.
Nell and Ned.
THAT harvest of two hundred bags of wheat was the turning-point in the history of our selection. Things somehow seemed to go better; and Dad's faith was gradually justified—to some extent. We accumulated outbuildings and added two new rooms to the hut, and Dad was able to lend old Anderson £5 in return for a promise to pay £7 10s. in six months' time. We increased the stock, too, by degrees; and—crowning joy!—we got a horse or two you could ride to the township.
With Nell and Ned we reckoned we had two saddle-horses—those were their names, Nell and Ned, a mare and a colt. Fine hacks they were, too! Anybody could ride them, they were so quiet. Dad reckoned Ned was the better of the two. He was well-bred, and had a pedigree and a gentle disposition, and a bald-face, and a bumble-foot, and a raw wither, and a sore back that gave him a habit of "flinching"—a habit that discounted his uselessness a great deal, because, when we were n't at home, the women could n't saddle him to run the cows in. Whenever he saw the saddle
