“Yes; first-class feed for a cow,” said Alec, gazing about critically.
“And the trees—do you notice what lovely foliage they have?”
“I don’t know much about foliage, and that’s a fact, Bertha; but as for trees, I reckon I know a good one when I see it, and I looked the whole lot over the other day, and I’ll take my oath there’s not a good free splitter in the lot! A lot of knotty, cross-grained wretches! They are only fit for mill-wood, if they are fit for that!”
Bertha sighed softly to herself.
“I should so like to travel, would not you, Alec? To go to other countries and see something of the world?”
“That’s just my idea. Let’s go to the next Melbourne Cup. We can do the thing tip-top, and have a grand old time!”
“Oh, bother the Melbourne Cup, Alec! You are always thinking of races. They say there is nothing worth noticing in Melbourne after you have seen Sydney, except it may be the bad smells. And their races are just like ours, so they won’t be much of a treat.”
“How you do talk, Bertha. Why, Melbourne is the finest city in Australia.”
“I was thinking of other countries—France and England, for instance.”
“What’s the good of our going to England? Isn’t Australia the finest country in the world, and the people ahead of all the others? Look at our fighting men, our rowing men, our cricketers. Why, we can beat them all, hands down. Australia’s good enough for me, any day.”