He paid no attention to her; he worked
harder. Mother waited, holding the tea in her hand. A lump of wood
nearly as big as a shingle flew up and shaved her left ear. She put the
tea on the ground and went in search of eggs for dinner. (We were out
of meat--the kangaroo-dog was lame. He had got "ripped" the last time
we killed.)
The tea remained on the ground. Chips fell into it. The dog saw it.
He limped towards it eagerly, and dipped the point of his nose in it.
It burnt him. An aged rooster strutted along and looked sideways at it.
HE distrusted it and went away. It attracted the pig--a sow with nine
young ones. She waddled up, and poked the cup over with her nose; then
she sat down on it, while the family joyously gathered round the saucer.
Still the man chopped on.
Mother returned--without any eggs. She rescued the crockery from the pigs
and turned curiously to the man. She said, "Why, you've let them take the
tea!" No answer. She wondered.
Suddenly, and for the fiftieth time, the axe flew off. The man held the
handle and stared at the woodheap. Mother watched him. He removed his
hats, and looked inside them. He remained looking inside them.
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