Pulling
the suckers and "heeling it up" with hoes was but child's play--we liked it.
Our thoughts were all on the boots; 'twas months months since we had pulled
on a pair. Every night, in bed, we decided twenty times over whether they
would be lace-ups or bluchers, and Dave had a bottle of "goanna" oil ready
to keep his soft with.
Dad now talked of going up country--as Mother put it, "to keep the wolf
from the door"--while the four acres of corn ripened. He went, and
returned on the day Tom and Bill were born--twins. Maybe his absence did
keep the wolf from the door, but it did n't keep the dingoes from the
fowl-house!
Once the corn ripened it did n't take long to pull it, but Dad had to put
on his considering-cap when we came to the question of getting it in.
To hump it in bags seemed inevitable till Dwyer asked Dad to give him a
hand to put up a milking-yard. Then Dad's chance came, and he seized it.
Dwyer, in return for Dad's labour, carted in the corn and took it to the
railway-station when it was shelled. Yes, when it WAS shelled! We had to
shell it with our hands, and what a time we had! For the first half-hour
we did n't mind it at all, and shelled cob after cob as though we liked it;
but next day, talk about blisters! we could n't close our hands for them,
and our faces had to go without a wash for a fortnight.
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