table and in and out the back room till Mother nearly cried with pity.
"Is n't it any easier at all, Father?" she said commiseratingly.
"How the devil can it be easier? . . . Oh-h!"
The kangaroo-dog had coiled himself snugly on a bag before the fire. Dad kicked him savagely and told him to get out. The dog slunk sulkily to the door, his tail between his legs, and his back humped as if expecting another kick. He got it. Dad sat in the ashes then, and groaned lamentably. The dog walked in at the back door and dropped on the bag again.
Joe came in to say that "Two coves out there wants somethink."
Dad paid no attention.
The two "coves"—a pressman, in new leggings, and Canty, the storekeeper—came in. Mother brought a light. Dad moaned, but did n't look up.
"Well, Mr. Rudd," the pressman commenced (he was young and fresh-looking), "I 'm from the (something-or-other) office. I'm—er—after information about the crops round here. I suppose—er"
"Oh-h-h!" Dad groaned, opening his mouth over the fire, and pressing the tooth hard with his thumb.
The pressman stared at him for awhile; then grinned at the storekeeper, and made a derisive face at Dad's back.
