Of course we were not ready, and that bear, like the other, got up another
tree. But Dave did n't. He lay till Dad ran about two miles down a gully
to a dam and filled his hat with muddy water and came tearing back with it
empty--till Anderson and Mother came and helped to carry him home.
We did n't go out any more after bears. Dave, when he was able, went and
got Maloney's colt and put him in the plough. And, after he had kicked
Dad and smashed all the swingle-trees about the place, and got right out
of his harness a couple of times and sulked for two days, he went well
enough beside Anderson's old grey mare.
And that season, when everyone else's wheat was red with rust--when
Anderson and Maloney cut theirs for hay--when Johnson put a firestick in
his--ours was good to see. It ripened; and the rain kept off, and we
reaped 200 bags. Salvation!
CHAPTER XIX.
Nell and Ned.
That harvest of two hundred bags of wheat was the turning-point in the
history of our selection. Things somehow seemed to go better; and Dad's
faith was gradually justified--to some extent. We accumulated out-buildings
and added two new rooms to the hut, and Dad was able to lend old Anderson
five pounds in return for a promise to pay seven pounds ten shillings in
six months' time.
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