Then they had “stick” horses, which came in for a lot of care, and during the drought Doris daily placed little nose-bags, filled with sawdust (for chaff), on their heads, after she had dipped their heads into a pail of water. “’Cause the poor things are like ourselves, and get so thirsty,” she would murmur, as she ran backwards and forwards, attending to their wants.
“When God sends the rain, we’ll have nice green couch-grass for youse,” she would tell the sticks, as she laid them away for the night. There was Rattler and Robin and Tommie and Bally, and while Baby could only jog round the house on hers, Doris would scamper over the paddock.
Frank Lynton had lived with the Hudson family for the last five years. His mother had been Mr. Hudson’s favourite cousin, and on her death-bed she had given her son into his care.
“I know you will be good to him, Robert,” she had murmured. “You know, his father was a ne’er-do-well, but I’m sure my boy will not follow in his steps.”
So Frank became one of the family, and tried to settle down and do his very best, although as the years went on he knew that the land was not for him, and, try as he would, he could never build up any interest or eagerness in the work. This only made him try the harder to help and please “Uncle and Aunt,” as he always called them, for he had a great sense of gratitude, and he gave his fresh young strength and energies to help them in their needs, while all the time deep in his heart was an unsatisfied longing for something different.
“If only things would change for the better, and I could leave Uncle,” he would murmur, as he went about his work. “But I must not let them know—not yet awhile; but I’ll have to later on. I’m not going to waste my life doing things I hate.”
Then he would work grimly on, with determination on his young face. And no one at “Gillong” ever guessed the unsatisfied longings in the boy’s heart—no one but Mollie.
It came about in this way. It had been a very hot, trying day, and Frank had left home at five in the morning and returned at twilight, after mustering and drafting sheep the whole day long. He was utterly weary and worn out as he rode to the hayshed and pulled the saddle and bridle off his horse, and there Mollie met him.
“Oh, Frank! a man came down from Myall to say there’s a big draft there to-morrow. Travelling sheep were going through, and they didn’t give notice, and all the sheep are boxed, and they want you up, first light.”
“Oh, hang it all!” cried Frank, wrathfully. “I’ve been at it every day this week. It’s nothing but drafting from morning till night. I’m just about sick of the whole turn-out.”