We were afraid of him, and as far as we could see he never patted or made much of Crib.He thrashed him unmerciful as he did us boys.
Still the dog was that fond of him you'd think he'd like to die for him there and then.But dogs are not like boys, or men either -- better, perhaps.
Well, we were all born at the hut by the creek, I suppose, for I remember it as soon as I could remember anything.
It was a snug hut enough, for father was a good bush carpenter, and didn't turn his back to any one for splitting and fencing, hut-building and shingle-splitting; he had had a year or two at sawing, too, but after he was married he dropped that.But I've heard mother say that he took great pride in the hut when he brought her to it first, and said it was the best-built hut within fifty miles.
He split every slab, cut every post and wallplate and rafter himself, with a man to help him at odd times; and after the frame was up, and the bark on the roof, he camped underneath and finished every bit of it -- chimney, flooring, doors, windows, and partitions -- by himself.
Then he dug up a little garden in front, and planted a dozen or two peaches and quinces in it; put a couple of roses -- a red and a white one --by the posts of the verandah, and it was all ready for his pretty Norah, as she says he used to call her then.If I've heard her tell about the garden and the quince trees and the two roses once, I've heard her tell it a hundred times.Poor mother! we used to get round her -- Aileen, and Jim, and I -- and say, `Tell us about the garden, mother.'
She'd never refuse; those were her happy days, she always said.
She used to cry afterwards -- nearly always.
The first thing almost that I can remember was riding the old pony, 'Possum, out to bring in the milkers.Father was away somewhere, so mother took us all out and put me on the pony, and let me have a whip.
Aileen walked alongside, and very proud I was.My legs stuck out straight on the old pony's fat back.Mother had ridden him up when she came --the first horse she ever rode, she said.He was a quiet little old roan, with a bright eye and legs like gate-posts, but he never fell down with us boys, for all that.If we fell off he stopped still and began to feed, so that he suited us all to pieces.We soon got sharp enough to flail him along with a quince stick, and we used to bring up the milkers, I expect, a good deal faster than was good for them.
After a bit we could milk, leg-rope, and bail up for ourselves, and help dad brand the calves, which began to come pretty thick.
There were only three of us children -- my brother Jim, who was two years younger than I was, and then Aileen, who was four years behind him.
I know we were both able to nurse the baby a while after she came, and neither of us wanted better fun than to be allowed to watch her, or rock the cradle, or as a great treat to carry her a few steps.
Somehow we was that fond and proud of her from the first that we'd have done anything in the world for her.And so we would now -- I was going to say -- but that poor Jim lies under a forest oak on a sandhill, and I -- well, I'm here, and if I'd listened to her advice I should have been a free man.A free man! How it sounds, doesn't it?
with the sun shining, and the blue sky over your head, and the birds twittering, and the grass beneath your feet!
I wonder if I shall go mad before my time's up.
Mother was a Roman Catholic -- most Irishwomen are; and dad was a Protestant, if he was anything.However, that says nothing.People that don't talk much about their religion, or follow it up at all, won't change it for all that.
So father, though mother tried him hard enough when they were first married, wouldn't hear of turning, not if he was to be killed for it, as I once heard him say.`No!' he says, `my father and grandfather, and all the lot, was Church people, and so I shall live and die.
I don't know as it would make much matter to me, but such as my notions is, I shall stick to 'em as long as the craft holds together.
You can bring up the girl in your own way; it's made a good woman of you, or found you one, which is most likely, and so she may take her chance.
But I stand for Church and King, and so shall the boys, as sure as my name's Ben Marston.'