Archie was now quite as wealthy as either of his companions; for his speculations, instigated by his friend Winslow, had turned out well; so his stock had increased tenfold, and he had taken more pasture to the westward and north, near where Bob’s and Harry’s sheep now were; for Craig’s advice had been acted on.
None too soon though; for early in the winter an old shepherd arrived in haste at the homesteading to report an outbreak of inflammatory catarrh among the flocks still left on the lower pastures.
The events that quickly followed put Archie in mind of the “dark days” at Burley Old Farm, when fat beasts were dying in twos and threes day after day. Sheep affected with this strange ailment lived but a day or two, and the only thing to do was to kill them on the very first symptoms of the ailment appearing. They were then just worth the price of their hides and tallow.
Considering the amount of extra work entailed, and the number of extra hands to be hired, and the bustle and stir and anxiety caused by the outbreak, it is doubtful if it would not have been better to bury them as they fell, skin and all.
This was one of the calamities which Winslow had pointed out to Archie as likely to occur. But it was stamped out at last. The sheep that remained were sent away to far-off pastures; being kept quite separate, however, from the other flocks. So the cloud passed away, and the squatters could breathe freely again, and hope for a good lambing season, when winter passed away, and spring time came once more.
“Bob,” said Archie one evening, as they all sat round the hearth before retiring to bed, “that fire looks awfully cosy, doesn’t it? And all the house is clean and quiet—oh, so quiet and delightful that I really wonder anyone could live in a city or anywhere near the roar and din of railway trains! Then our farm is thriving far beyond anything we could have dared to expect. We are positively getting rich quickly, if, indeed, we are not rich already. And whether it be winter or summer, the weather is fine, glorious sometimes. Indeed, it is like a foretaste of heaven, Bob, in my humble opinion, to get up early and wander out of doors.”
“Well,” said Bob, “small reason to be ashamed to say that, my boy.”
“Hold on, Bob, I’m coming to the part I’m ashamed of; just you smoke your pipe and keep quiet. Well, so much in love am I with the new country that I’m beginning to forget the old. Of course I’ll always—always be a true Englishman, and I’d go back to-morrow to lay down my life for the dear old land if it was in danger. But it isn’t, it doesn’t want us, it doesn’t need us; it is full to overflowing, and I daresay they can do without any of us. But, Bob, there is my dear old father, mother, Elsie, and Rupert. Now, if it were only possible to have them here. But I know my father is wedded to Burley, and his life’s dream is to show his neighbours a thing or two. I know too that if he starts machinery again he will be irretrievably lost.”
Archie paused, and the kangaroo looked up into his face as much as to say, “Go on, I’m all attention.”
“Well, Bob, if I make a pile here and go home, I’ll just get as fond of Burley as I was when a boy, and I may lose my pile too. It seems selfish to speak so, but there is no necessity for it. So I mean to try to get father to emigrate. Do you think such a thing is possible, Bob?”