How free we felt! To think we were finished for ever with the raking and
carting of hay--finished tramping up and down beside Dad, with the
plough-reins in our hands, flies in our eyes and burr in our feet--finished
being the target for Dad's blasphemy when the plough or the horses or the
harness went wrong--was delightful! And the adventure and excitement
which this new industry promised operated strongly upon us. We rioted and
careered like hunted brumbies through the trees, till warned by Dad to
"keep our eyes about;" then we settled down, and Joe found the first bear.
It was on an ironbark tree, around the base of which we soon were
clamouring.
"Up y' go!" Dad said, cheerfully helping Dave and the tomahawk into the
first fork.
Dave ascended and crawled cautiously along the limb the bear was on and
began to chop. WE armed ourselves with heavy sticks and waited. The
dog sat on his tail and stared and whined at the bear. The limb cracked,
and Dave ceased chopping and shouted "Look out!" We shouldered arms. The
dog was in a hurry. He sprang in the air and landed on his back. But
Dave had to make another nick or two. Then with a loud crack the limb
parted and came sweeping down.
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