in no time Dad was laughing and joking over the operation. A pleased look was in Mother's face; happiness filled the home again, and we grew quite fond of that pressman—he was so jolly and affable, and made himself so much at home, Mother said.
"Now, sit over, and we'll have supper," said Dad, proud of having some fried steak to offer the visitors. We had killed a cow the evening before—one that was always getting bogged in the dam and taking up much of Dad's time dragging her out and cutting greenstuff to keep her alive. The visitors enjoyed her. The pressman wanted salt. None was on the table. Dad told Joe to run and get some—to be quick. Joe went out, but in a while returned. He stood at the door with the hammer in his hand and said:
"Did you shift the r-r-r-rock-salt from where S-Spotty was lickin' it this evenin', Dave? "
Dave reached for the bread.
"Don't bother—don't bother about it," said the pressman.
"Sit down, youngster, and finish your supper."
"No bother at all," Dad said; but Joe sat down, and Dad scowled at him.
Then Dad got talking about wheat and wallabies—when, all at once, the pressman gave a jump that rattled the things on the table.
"Oh-h-h! . . . I've got it now!" he said, dropping his
