Dad left him alone and went inside
wondering.
Next day Mother and Dad were talking at the barn. Mother, bare-headed,
was holding some eggs in her apron. Dad was leaning on a hoe.
"I am AFRAID of him," Mother said; "it's not right you should keep him
about the place. No one's safe with such a man. Some day he'll take it
in his head to kill us all, and then--"
"Tut, tut, woman; poor old Jack! he's harmless as a baby."
"All right," (sullenly); "you'll see!"
Dad laughed and went away with the hoe on his shoulder to cut burr.
Middle of summer. Dad and Dave in the paddock mowing lucerne. Jack
sinking post-holes for a milking-yard close to the house. Joe at
intervals stealing behind him to prick him with straws through a rent in
the rear of his patched moleskins. Little Bill--in readiness to
run--standing off, enjoying the sport.
Inside the house sat Mother and Sal, sewing and talking of Maloney's
new baby.
"Dear me," said Mother; "it's the tiniest mite of a thing I ever saw;
why, bless me, anyone of y' at its age would have made three of--"
"MIND, Mother!" Sal shrieked, jumping up on the sofa. Mother screamed and
mounted the table.
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