“No, never,” cried Willie. “As true as anything, I didn’t.”
“We have, but we’d love to hear it again,” said Eileen.
“Righto!” and Joe tapped his pipe on his boot, preparatory to filling it.
“Oh, dear! are you going to fill your pipe first?” asked Willie. “Come on, I’ll help you.”
“No, thanks, young man; I don’t care about the way you cut baccy.”
“Oh, dear, start telling us, Joe, while you’re cutting the tobacco!” said Willie, all eagerness to hear the story.
“Hold ’ard, hold ’ard!” said Joe, calmly, as he went on with his work. At last the pipe was filled and lit, and Joe proceeded.
“Yes, we was all away draftin’ at the yards down at the back of ‘Coolabah,’ and a fire broke out down along the crick, about four mile from here. There was tons of dry grass lying about, and it blazed like fury. Your Mother seen it light up, and you can bet she got the shock of her life. Not a man within miles, and all youse little ones with her. She knew if it came this far the house and all would go, and very likely you and her’d be burnt to death. So she rushed out to the paddock and catches old Dolly and whipped her into the spring-cart, and she put all youse in, an’ she rushed round and gathers up a little brood of chickens that she couldn’t bear to think of bein’ burnt to death, and put ’em in a box and jumps out into the cart and sent old Dolly like—like blazes, down the Myall road, and all the time the flames was comin’ nearer an’ nearer, and she was hardly game to look back, fearin’ she would see the house on fire.”
“Oh, dear!” gasped the children. “Wasn’t it awful?”
“Yes, and she sent old Dolly as fast as she could go down the road, and just as she turned the bend, lo and behold youse! she sees a pack of horsemen galloping down towards her!”