Bluey was n't used to the ways of people well brought up.
The world had dealt harshly with Casey, and his story went to Mother's
heart. "God buless y'," he said when she told him he could have some
dinner; "but I'll cut y' wood for it; oh, I'll cut y' wood!" And he went
to the wood-heap and started work. A big heap and a blunt axe; but it
did n't matter to Casey. He worked hard, and did n't stare about, and
did n't reduce the heap much, either; and when Sal called him to dinner he
could n't hear--he was too busy. Joe had to go and bring him away.
Casey sat at the table and looked up at the holes in the roof, through
which the sun was shining.
"Ought t' be a cool house," he remarked.
Mother said it was.
"Quite a bush house."
"Oh, yes," Mother said--"we're right in the bush here."
He began to eat and, as he ate, talked cheerfully of selections and crops
and old times and bad times and wire fences and dead cattle. Casey was a
versatile ancient. When he was finished he shifted to the sofa and asked
Mother how many children she had. Mother considered and said, "Twelve."
He thought a dozen enough for anyone, and, said that HIS mother, when he
left home, had twenty-one--all girls but him.
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