The horse died in the paddock of old age, but Dad
never ploughed with him again.
Dad followed the plough early and late. One day he was giving the horses
a spell after some hours' work, when Joe came to say that a policeman was
at the house wanting to see him. Dad thought of the roan mare, and Smith,
and turned very pale. Joe said: "There's "Q.P." on his saddle-cloth;
what's that for, Dad?" But he did n't answer--he was thinking hard.
"And," Joe went on, "there's somethin' sticking out of his pocket--Dave
thinks it'll be 'ancuffs." Dad shuddered. On the way to the house Joe
wished to speak about the policeman, but Dad seemed to have lock-jaw.
When he found the officer of the law only wanted to know the number of
stock he owned, he talked freely--he was delighted. He said, "Yes, sir,"
and "No, sir," and "Jusso, sir," to everything the policeman said.
Dad wished to learn some law. He said: "Now, tell me this: supposing a
horse gets into my paddock--or into your paddock--and I advertise that
horse and nobody claims him, can't I put my brand on him?" The policeman
jerked back his head and stared at the shingles long enough to recall all
the robberies he had committed, and said: "Ye can--that's so--ye can.
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