Dad said: "I'll see what 's keeping her," and rose—glad if ever man was glad—to get away. He found Mother seated on the ironbark table in the kitchen. They did n't speak. They looked at each other sympathisingly.
"Well?" Dad whispered at last; "what are you going to do?" Mother shook her head. She did n't know.
"Tell him straight there ain't any, an' be done with it," was Dad's cheerful advice. Mother several times approached the door, but hesitated and returned again.
"What are you afraid of?" Dad would ask; "he won't eat y'." Finally she went in.
Then Dad tiptoed to the door and listened. He was listening eagerly when a lump of earth—a piece of the cultivation paddock—fell dangerously near his feet. It broke and scattered round him, and rattled inside against the papered wall. Dad jumped round. A row of jackasses on a tree near by laughed merrily. Dad looked up. They stopped. Another one laughed clearly from the edge of the tall corn. Dad turned his head. It was Dave. Dad joined him, and they watched the parson mount his horse and ride away.
Dad drew a deep and grateful breath. "Thank God!" he said.
