Birds took kindly to her--crows mostly--and she
could n't go anywhere but a flock of them accompanied her. Even when Dad
used to ride her (Dan or Dave never rode her) they used to follow, and
would fly on ahead to wait in a tree and "caw" when he was passing beneath.
One morning when Dan was digging potatoes for dinner--splendid potatoes
they were, too, Dad said; he had only once tasted sweeter ones, but they
were grown in a cemetery--he found the kangaroos had been in the barley.
We knew what THAT meant, and that night made fires round it, thinking to
frighten them off, but did n't--mobs of them were in at daybreak. Dad
swore from the house at them, but they took no notice; and when he ran
down, they just hopped over the fence and sat looking at him. Poor Dad!
I do n't know if he was knocked up or if he did n't know any more, but he
stopped swearing and sat on a stump looking at a patch of barley they had
destroyed, and shaking his head. Perhaps he was thinking if he only had
a dog! We did have one until he got a bait. Old Crib! He was lying
under the table at supper-time when he took the first fit, and what a
fright we got! He must have reared before stiffening out, because he
capsized the table into Mother's lap, and everything on it smashed except
the tin-plates and the pints.
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